


Road, You Gotta Take Me Home

by rockstarpeach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Character Death, Cop Castiel, Daddy Dean, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Sexual Tension, dean raises ben, troubled teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockstarpeach/pseuds/rockstarpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his ex-girlfriend is killed in a car accident, Dean gains custody of her fourteen year old son.  They know it’s going to be difficult, with the stress of grief and unfamiliar living conditions weighing on them, but neither of them is ready for just how difficult it really is, trying to feel out where they belong in the confusion and aftermath of such a great loss.  They deal with it though.  They’re family.  What other choice do they have?<br/>A family drama, featuring Dean as a new single father, Ben as a ninth grader with trouble coping, Sam as the voice of reason and the rock that holds Dean up and Cas as the sympathetic police officer who repeatedly busts Ben for petty crimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road, You Gotta Take Me Home

  


He gets the call at three-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday, in early January.

The muffled bass chords of _Foreigner_ pull him from a light sleep and he slowly blinks his eyes open as he turns and reaches for his jeans, piled up on the floor next to the bed. He’s careful not to disturb the still form next to him while he fumbles through the pockets for his phone.

His thumb slides across the side, searching for the raised button, pressing down when he finds it, cutting the music off mid-bar and he doesn’t bother to check the caller ID to see who it is. He’s too tired to give a shit, beyond telling whoever it is to fuck off.

The phone isn’t even pressed to his head yet when he hears the frantic babbling of a fourteen year old, words like _please_ and _Dean_ and _help_ and _mom_ and his chest tightens for half a second before he remembers Ben pulls crazy shit like this on a weekly basis and this could just be nothing. Probably is.

“Ben,” he groans into the phone, rubbing his hand over his face and checking out the reddish orange glow of the digital clock display as he listens to the boy’s panicked voice. If he’s calling because he’s freaking out about a test in the morning, Dean is going to kill him. He’s had to talk the kid down from academic anxiety more than once, even after Dean moved out. And Ben’s only in ninth grade. “Calm down, man. What’s going on?”

“Dean, it’s an emergency,” Ben says, and Dean has to hand it to him, he sounds really convincing this time. He’s sounded convincing the last three times as well, so Dean takes a deep breath and doesn’t quite fall for it. “It’s Mom. You’ve got to come, Dean. Please.”

“Ben,” he says again, a sigh this time as he relaxes a little, pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders whether or not he’ll be able to get back to sleep tonight. Dean’s heard this before. “I told you, man. Me and your mom are done and this fake emergency phone call bullshit has got to stop. Especially in the middle of the night.”

The body next to him moves on the bed, rolls over. A delicate blonde eyebrow arches at Dean while perfectly manicured fingernails trail over his naked hip. He shakes his head at her, an unspoken order to keep quiet; she shrugs and nuzzles into his neck, nose running along the hollow before her lips close over his pulse point.

He holds back a moan and wraps his leg around one of hers, pulling her closer. Maybe not getting back to sleep won’t be such a bad thing. He doesn’t plan on ever seeing Elizabeth again, but that doesn’t mean he’s not up for another round or two before he leaves for work in a few hours.

“ _No_ ,” Ben protests, and Dean can hear his voice waver, break and squeak as he shouts and Dean goes still, listens intently because that sounds _real_. “No, it’s not fake. I swear. I’m at the friggin’ _hospital_.”

“Ben, what happened?” Dean asks. His voice is low and he’s suddenly cold all over. He stiffens further and Elizabeth pulls back with a frown, looking up at him.

“There was an accident. She… a car. On her way to pick me from Aunt Corrine’s tonight. Dean… Dean they said she lost a lot of blood. Maybe too much. They…” There’s a hitching sob and Dean can picture Ben’s face, the quivering lip and the tight lines around moist eyes and Dean wants to cry too. “ _Dean_.”

“I’m on my way,” Dean says, gruff and strained as he forces himself to stay in control. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just thumbs off his phone and swings his legs over the side of the bed, scanning the floor for his underwear.

“Who was that?” Elizabeth asks sleepily, rolling over all the way as she watches him shimmy into his pants.

“Nobody,” Dean says, dismissing her as he slides into his t-shirt and bends down to give her a distracted peck on the cheek. “Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll call you.” 

He won’t and she knows it, but she smiles prettily at him anyway and doesn’t move from the bed as he slips out of the bedroom, down the hall and out the apartment door.

He doesn’t even stop by his house first, doesn’t bother to pack a bag or check the flight schedule, just gets in his car and breaks sixteen traffic laws across three states. He doesn’t notice the sun coming up or his stomach rumbling or his fingers tightening on the wheel as he drives from Lawrence to Cicero in under seven hours.

By the time he gets there it’s too late. Not that he would have been able to do much if he’d managed to get there a few hours earlier, except maybe say good bye - something he can’t ever do now, and his stomach plummets as he listens to the nurse at the main reception, her voice getting quieter, hollowing out as his vision tunnels and she seems to get further and further away.

Dean’s scared he might throw up for a minute, but even though he feels the bile rising and churning he manages to holds it down. He nods mutely as she points him down the hallway and he turns to go, barely hanging on to her directions through his fog.

He takes the elevator up to the seventh floor, walks down the hall with the shaky fingers of his right hand tracing the wide purple strip of paint that’s supposed to show him the way. He’s numb, sort of. Has been since halfway down I-70 when he’d finally allowed the reality of what Ben told him to settle, when he’d realised that he might actually lose her. For good this time.

And now…

Now Ben’s asleep with his head in his uncle’s lap, tear tracks drying across his blotchy face as Lisa’s sister fills out form after form with an unsteady hand. Dean blinks, hugs her, bends down to kiss Ben on the forehead and then lets himself fall back against the cinderblock wall of the waiting room. His legs give out a minute or so later when they wheel Lisa’s lifeless body by on a gurney and he slides to the ground, buries his face in his knees and cries.

***

“I want to go with you,” Ben is saying, his rounded cheeks pulled tight as he fights back a fresh wave of tears. He steels his jaw and looks up at Dean with hard, demanding eyes. It’s adorable and Dean doesn’t quite know how to say _no_ , but he has to.

He walked away from Ben once and it was the hardest thing he ever did.

“Ben, your aunt…” Dean says, shaking his head. 

Ben slams his hand down next to Dean’s on the kitchen counter and Dean flinches. This kitchen had been Dean’s own for over five years, now so familiar and so alien all at once and Dean can’t wait to get the hell out of there and never ever come back.

Corrine and Paul are at their house across town, clearing out the spare bedroom they’d been using for storage.

“She has her own kid," Ben says. "I mean, I love Kyle but he’s just a baby. And they’re both working and they don’t have time…”

“That’s even more reason for you to go with them,” Dean tells him, doesn’t quite shout but it’s close. “You’re old enough. You’re damn near a man now, Ben, and you can help them out. You need to stick with your family.”

“ _You’re_ my family,” Ben shouts angrily and his hand slams down again, making the counter rattle. Fuckin’ kid is strong.

“Ben…” Dean sighs and he can’t help it when his eyes flutter shut because it’s _so hard_ to say no to him. Especially since he’s right. Dean is his family in every way that matters, every bit as much as Corrine and Paul, even if they’re not blood.

Lisa sent him packing over six months ago now, but he’s never stopped being there for Ben. They talk on the phone all the time, they Skype every Monday (Ben taught him how before he left) and he’s still the first one Ben calls when he hits a homerun at baseball practice or when one of the kids at school is being a dick.

Dean and Lisa parted on good terms. Well, as good as can be expected when two people realise they’re just not right for each other, even though that’s all they want to be. It was no ‘one thing’, no big fight, no commitment issues, nothing dragging them in opposite directions, they just… stopped working.

It sucked and Dean doesn’t know that he ever truly agreed they couldn’t stick it out, but it happens. 

They kept in touch, he sent her flowers on her birthday and he invited them out to stay with him in Lawrence for Christmas and he flew back to Cicero for Kyle’s christening and he never stopped loving her. But if he’s being honest with himself, if it hadn’t been for Ben, he probably wouldn’t have tried so hard, would have just let her fade into a pleasant memory.

But just like Dean is Ben’s family, Ben is Dean’s. The only family he’s got left besides Sammy. And even though Ben’s not his kid, Dean’s always sort of felt like yeah, he is.

“Please,” Ben says after almost a minute of silence. “Can I go with you?”

“Ben, they’re not just gonna let you come with me. Your aunt Corrine, the cops… I live alone, I work late and for all the authorities know, I’m practically a stranger. There’s no way they’d let you come with me. Not when you have family…”

“You’re my family,” Ben says again, lower this time, more determined but Dean can see his jaw tick, see his gaze waver. He’s scared. Scared Dean’s going to say no, that Dean doesn’t want him and he’ll be down two parents instead of just one.

Dean stares him down for a solid thirty seconds and Ben looks back, eyes wide and blinking and his lips quiver slightly, but he doesn’t cry.

“Go pack a bag,” Dean finally says, and the relief in Ben’s eyes makes him want to scream. If the best thing the kid has left in his life is Dean, he’s in serious trouble. “I’ll call Corrine.”

***

Shockingly, Corrine is okay with the idea of Ben coming to stay with Dean. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” she tells him. Dean can hear the slight waver in her voice down the line that tells him it’s not really what she wants, but she’s already resigned herself to it. “He’s my nephew and I love him but… but you’re his dad.”

Dean has to squeeze his eyes shut at that and swallow down a fresh wave of tears because _thank fucking God_ he doesn’t have to try and prove himself here. She’s always gotten it, though, always seen what they are to each other, just like Lisa did. Maybe it’s a chick thing. Anyway, hearing it from someone who’s not himself makes him feel like maybe he’s not wrong to want to keep Ben with him forever. Like he’s doing the right thing instead of being a selfish prick.

Dean thanks her and tells her to call whenever she wants, promises they’ll come back to visit soon and on a regular basis, every damn weekend if Ben’s feeling homesick and when Dean hangs up the phone his knees sort of give out on him. He grabs for the nearest kitchen chair and sits down, props his elbows on the table and rests his forehead on his palms while he sucks in a few deep breaths.

Holy fucking shit.

He’s a single father.

***

They can’t go back to Lawrence right away because shit needs to get done. There are arrangements to be made, the headstone, the plot, the funeral. The house needs to be put on the market, all the belongings packed up and donated. Corrine takes a few things, so does Dean. Some pictures, some jewellery (just in case Ben wants it one day for someone special), the Christmas decorations. Those are what matter most to him. And to Ben. They’d made so many of them, together, back when Ben was ten and they strung them from every corner on the first Christmas Dean spent living with the Braedens. Every Christmas since they did the same, even this last one in Lawrence and it’s not a tradition Dean plans on abandoning.

He doesn’t pay attention to what Corrine takes, doesn’t really care. Just loads the boxes up into Paul’s truck and brings the rest of Lisa’s things to Goodwill. He puts the few boxes of Ben’s stuff into the trunk or his car, mostly clothes and books and video games, his iPod and his laptop. Ben’s whole life now, and it fits into the trunk of Dean’s fucking car.

He falls apart on his way back to the motel he and Ben are staying in and has to sit in the car for a solid five minutes before his eyes aren’t red and puffy anymore.

He doesn’t want Ben to see him cry.

Corrine makes most of the arrangements but she’s good about asking Dean what he thinks. She asks Ben too, but she’s careful to not put too much on him, to not ask of him more than he can deal with. He’s strong, he chooses the cherry wood coffin and the flat, gray marbled headstone and tells Corrine it’s up to her what she does with the house. Ben just wants it to be over and since he’s not planning on living there anymore he doesn’t care if she sells it. Ben’s too young to make the legal decisions right now, anyway. Plus, all the money from the estate, the life insurance, what isn’t used for the funeral goes into a trust fund for Ben when he turns 18. And he trusts his aunt to keep cool enough to make good choices.

Dean is so fucking proud of that kid and when the sale on the house closes (a day before the funeral, which is so fucking fast Dean’s head sort of spins) Dean locks himself in the bathroom for an hour under the guise of showering. When he finally comes out Ben has used the kitchenette to reheat them one of those pre-made pot roasts from the grocery store and there’s a bottle of whisky on the counter that Dean doesn’t even question.

He just hugs Ben, pulls the kid’s head against his chest and they both hang on tight. By the time they let go their supper is cold but neither of them mentions it.

***

“If this is all too fast for you,” Dean tells Ben in the morning, while he’s helping him with his tie, “we can slow it down. We don’t have to leave town yet, if you don’t want to. It’s not too late to keep the house.” Except it probably is. “I don’t even know what Corrine was thinking, selling it so fast.”

“No,” Ben says, jerks his head in a single shake as his voice cracks slightly. “No, we all just need for this to be done. Mom wouldn’t want us wallowing.”

“Ben, it’s not wallowing. It’s grieving. And it’s completely healthy.” Which, hilarious, coming from Dean Winchester. He wishes they were both in any position to see the funny. “It’s okay if…”

“ _No_!” Ben snaps, and when Dean’s eyes widen and he stands up straight to give Ben some space, he sighs and looks down at a worn patch in the carpet. “Sorry. Just… I just want to go. Okay? I want to go with you and get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, jagged and choked. “Yeah, sure buddy. We just gotta do this one last thing for your mom and then we’ll be home by morning. Right?”

Ben nods and crosses the room for his suit jacket, puts it on with an expectant look. Dean forces a smile.

Dean’s always seen Lisa when he looks at Ben – his eyes and his smile and his sense of humour and his strength – but in that moment the resemblance hits so hard it almost knocks Dean breathless.

“You look great, kiddo.”

***

Ben is a fucking trooper through the funeral. Not like Dean. Dean curses under his breath, lets a few angry tears out, wipes them away before they can even fully form and his hands clench tight around his red leather bible. His bones feel like lead, his heart _aches_ and he’s shaking so hard he has to stuff his hands in his pockets while he greets people afterward.

Ben prays, serene in his sorrow and his tears are those of loss and pain but when he opens his eyes he blinks them away, stands up straight. He reads a bible passage or two, places a flower on the coffin and his jaw is shaky but strong as his mother is lowered into the cold Indiana ground.

***

Later that night they leave for Lawrence and Ben sleeps practically the entire way there.

Dean’s got space. His house has three bedrooms. He currently sleeps in the one that used to be his parents' and the rooms that used to belong to him and his brother are pretty much completely unused. He keeps his desk in the study on the main floor and the basement has more than enough room for storage. He doesn’t have much stuff, anyway.

It’s quick work to dust off his old furniture and change the sheets on his old bed and when Ben carries two overstuffed shoulder bags into the room and dumps them on the floor, he smiles up at Dean.

“Thank you,” he says brokenly. “It’s great.”

***

He goes back to work the next morning, leaves Ben home by himself with money for pizza and a stack of games piled up next to his PS3.

He’s been gone for a week, no word to anyone that he was taking off and not even a phone call since he left town in the middle of the night. In any other situation he’d probably be tossed out on his ass. Good thing he’s the boss.

The cars have missed him, he can tell. The ’67 Camaro and the ’92 Ranger have definitely not been getting enough love (seeing as they’re still in the shop after a fucking _week_ ). Dean rubs a hand over both their hoods as he makes his way through the lot and into the office.

The cars have missed him but Andy obviously hasn’t as he looks up from under the hood of a revved up ’08 Grand Prix and gives him a disinterested ‘yo’ and a half-assed salute in greeting.

“It’s not the radiator,” Dean tells Andy absently as he passes, slips inside the office proper and shuts the door behind him. Andy’s a good guy and a halfway decent mechanic, but Dean’s fucking awesome. He can sometimes tell what’s wrong with a car without even opening her up first, just by the way she sounds.

It’s why his dad had left the business to him instead of his brother, who couldn’t tell a crankshaft from a carburettor until two years after the old man had died.

He snorts when he takes in the office and sees Ash slumped over and completely asleep, and when he slams his hand down on his desk to get his attention the man barley flinches, just mumbles something vague and garbled and turns his head to face the other direction without waking up. Fucking crack staff Dean’s got working for him. Christ.

Thank God he’s got Jo coming in a couple times a week. Andy and Ash really aren’t that bad, but he knows he can count on the tiny little blonde to keep them in line if he’s not around. He’d love to have her on full time – she knows her way around an engine almost as well as Dean does – but her mom can’t run The Roadhouse on her own and if there’s one thing Dean understands, it’s being there for your family.

He picks up his phone next and punches in the code to check his personal messages. There are about a dozen, even though Ash has the code too, for when Dean’s not around. It’s mostly stuff he doesn’t sweat, dealers and suppliers that can always wait a few days for him to call them back.

There are three from Bobby though. The first two are nothing more than grunts followed by the clack of the receiver but by the third he sounds annoyed.

“ _Dean. Shit, boy, where the hell you at? If you don’t call me back_ yesterday _I’m givin’ those ’68 Mustang parts away to Rufus._ ”

Dean sighs and hangs the phone up. He slaps Ash on the back of his head to get him on his feet and calls Bobby back while Ash scoots out the door and shimmies under Andy’s Pontiac to help him out.

He checks over the books, the call log, personally inspects every car they’ve got in at the moment and then gets to work on repairing a ’99 Passat that honestly isn’t worth it. 

Ash and Andy come across like morons, but they’ve done a pretty good job keeping things together while he’s been away. It’s comforting. Sort of makes him want to take more time off, but then he thinks about what _home_ means now and working 24/7 almost seems like the better option.

***

When he gets home at half past six, the money he left for Ben is still on the table and the kid is still parked on the couch, watching reruns of ‘ _Pinky and the Brain_ ’. Dean detours into the kitchen to pick up a couple of apples and sits down next to Ben, passing him one without a word.

Ben looks over at him briefly before he looks back at the television, takes the apple and bites into it. Dean does the same and two hours later the credits for _Animaniacs_ roll while Ben lies slumped against Dean’s side with Dean’s arm around his shoulders.

Sam calls twice that night, but Dean doesn’t answer. He’s not ready.

***

The next few days are more of the same only Dean offers Ben carrot sticks, chicken fingers, peanut butter sandwiches and once, a milkshake. Ben eats everything Dean gives him, but it doesn’t look like he’s eating much else. The money is still there on the table and nothing is missing from the kitchen when Dean comes home.

He knows Ben needs time, he does. But Dean has no idea what to do, no idea how to act, what he should do to keep this kid from completely losing his shit. Fuck, Dean doesn’t even know what to do with _himself_ , and he’s lost people before. This should be old hat for him, he should know exactly what Ben needs after something like this. He should but he doesn’t, because everybody’s different and Dean is a selfish prick and Lisa…

Lisa’s _gone_. She’s gone. Forever. And Dean’s known for a while that he couldn’t ever have her back, not the way he wanted, but this is so much more than that.

It kills him that he wasn’t the one for her and it kills him even more than he’ll never get the chance to prove that he could have been. But he’s still got Ben and he loves that fucking kid like nothing else and he _so_ doesn’t want to fuck this up. Wants Ben to adjust, grow up normal and healthy and be the president or cure AIDS or land on Mars.

But that’s not going to happen unless Dean can somehow magically assimilate kick-ass fathering skills, topped off with ace head-shrinking ability. He’s not counting on either, because Dean’s always been the ‘suck it up and keep your mouth shut’ type, but if there was ever a time to change for the better, this is it.

If only it were that easy.

***

“So hey,” Dean says on the fourth night, after he walks in to find Ben in the exact same place on the couch. “What do you say we get outta here? Maybe grab a burger, catch a movie? Anything you’ve been wantin’ to see?”

“Not really,” Ben says with a shake of his head. “I’m good.”

“Ben,” Dean sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, shutting his eyes tight. “You can’t just… Look, we could both use some air, don’t you think? I know this is all… I know it’s hard. But you need to eat, man. You need to get out. I can’t… I can’t put you in school until I know you won’t…”

He doesn’t finish that, doesn’t say he’s waiting until he knows Ben won’t break down in front of thirty teenagers, but Ben’s not an idiot and he hears it anyway.

“Yeah,” Ben says with a shaky smile. It’s all for Dean’s benefit, he knows that. He appreciates it and he wishes he could do something to make Ben feel better instead of the other way around, but getting him out of the fucking house is really the only thing he can think of. “I could go for burgers. But I want bacon on mine.”

“As if I’d let you have it without,” Dean answers, trying to laugh.

They stuff themselves at the corner diner, catch the latest Harry Potter at the theatre down the block and when they get home, Dean kisses Ben’s forehead and falls asleep listening through the walls to Ben’s slow, heaving sobs.

***

He lasts a whole week before he finally calls Sam. He hates asking for help and he’d happily put this off forever if he could but Sam’s been leaving more and more frantic messages on his cell so it’s probably time to face the music.

It’s first thing Wednesday morning and Dean’s standing in the kitchen with the receiver clutched in a death grip in his fist while he cocks his head around the corner into the living room to spy on Ben. He’s still curled up on the couch, passed out ten minutes ago after a nightmare got them both out of bed and Dean decided the best course of action was ice cream and Teletoon.

He takes a deep breath, punches in Sammy’s digits with an unsteady finger and waits impatiently as the phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times and the start of the fourth and Dean is ready to hang up, but suddenly the electronic chirp is cut off and Sam answers, breathless and angry.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice booms through the phone and Dean can feel the word like a slap across the face. “Where the fuck have you been?! I’ve been calling you for over two weeks, you shit!”

“I…” Dean starts, crackled and rough, all of his carefully rehearsed monologue dissolving in the face his brother’s honest concern. Yeah, it’d been a dick move to put off returning his calls for this long, but sometimes Dean can be a dick. And it’s possible he’s had other things on his mind. “You don’t really want to sign that lease for another year, do you?”

Sam had moved back to Lawrence after seven years in California, Stanford law school (the fucking show-off) after things had ended between him and his college sweetheart. It had been slow going at first, Sam heartbroken and jobless and living in his old childhood bedroom, but to hear Sam talk about it now, you’d think a gig as a small town public defender and pizza every Saturday with his brother was his childhood dream. Hell, it probably was.

He’s a hometown boy at heart, just like Dean. That’s what they’ll probably always be and they’re both more than okay with it.

He moved out when he landed his job though – to be independent or some bullshit – but Dean never really agreed with it. Sure the house is officially Dean’s – he bought Sam out after Sam graduated high school and Sam used the money to fund his quest for higher education – but what was the point in paying rent for an apartment six blocks over when there was a perfectly good room at Dean’s place? 

Hell, Sam spent half his time there anyway, so he might as well save himself the cash. Which was a perfectly good reason to ask Sam to move back in and that’s the one Dean would stick to, if anybody asked.

“Dean, you’re freaking me out, man,” Sam says and he sounds way too alert for five in the morning. “What the hell is going on?”

“Sammy,” he says on a watery sigh, gripping the receiver so tight in his fist that the plastic cracks slightly. “You wanna come home?”

***

Sam comes over later that day with bag full of his shit and absolutely no questions. They take Ben out for ice cream and then Sam gets Dean drunk and sings Zeppelin with him ‘til four in the morning. Carries him to bed when he’s too wasted to stand up straight and feeds him two Aspirin and four glasses of water.

Sam is the best brother ever.

***

A month later Sam has officially given up his apartment and moved back home, the Indiana state court has officially granted Dean Winchester custody of Benjamin Breaden (with instructions to check in with a woman named Candice once a month to make sure everyone is still alive) and Ben is enrolled in the ninth grade at Lincoln Collegiate, two blocks over.

It’s not exactly the life any of them pictured for themselves, a sort of fucked up version of _Two and a Half Men_ , complete with surly teenager, nerd and, loveable drunk, but it’s the one they’ve got and they’re trying to make it work.

And Sam helps. Sam more than helps and Ben is a pretty damn awesome kid and when Dean’s not there Sam is and when Sam isn’t Ben can handle things. He’s not a child, right? He can do his own laundry when Dean gets home late from work and he can make his own breakfast when Sam has an early court appearance. And at least he’s started eating again without Dean having to shove the food down his throat.

It’s okay. They don’t talk much, Ben and Dean. Not about anything that really matters. Sure, they talk about movies and music and fixing up the car and the right way to hold a gun, (not that he lets Ben hold it when it’s loaded) but they don’t ever talk about what they both so desperately need to.

It’s killing Ben, Dean can see that. He can see the kid pulling further and further away, retreating into himself and responding in increasingly short sentences, burying himself in his comic books and PSP and it’s getting harder and harder for Dean to get him to open up about _anything_ , even his math homework or the latest loser to get kicked off Survivor Island. 

It’s not long before Ben starts locking himself in his room as soon as he comes home from school and it’s not long after that the only dinner conversation Dean attempts is met with exaggerated enthusiasm from Sam and uninterested grunts from Ben.

He should talk to the kid. Dean knows that. Or he should get Ben somebody else to talk to, maybe make Sam do it or something, because this keeping things inside bullshit is not healthy. Dean should know; he’s a fucking master at that crap. But he can’t. 

He tries once, sits awkwardly with Ben on the couch watching a blank television screen, opens and closes his mouth about half a dozen times like a moron, having no idea where the hell to even start.

“Hey, Ben, I know this is a tough gig we got handed to us. This isn’t your home, you miss your friends and your family and… and your mom.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben tells him, tilting his head toward the window, probably so he can pretend to watch the blue jay that’s nesting in the tree just outside. 

“No, I probably don’t,” Dean agrees. He really doesn’t. He lost his mom when he was almost too young to remember and his father made it so that he just got right back up and kept on keepin’ on and Sam made it so that he never really had time to grieve properly, to understand what he’d lost. “But I loved her too, Ben. I…”

“If you loved her you wouldn’t have left her,” Ben says quietly. “You wouldn’t have left _us_.”

Dean takes a deep breath and resists the urge smack the side of Ben’s face. Yes, Ben is essentially just a kid and Dean would do absolutely anything to protect him, but Ben just looked him in the eye and told Dean he didn’t love Lisa, didn’t love _Ben_ and that’s a hard thing to just overlook.

“I loved your mother… I love _you_ , in a way you can’t get a grip on right now. But trust me when I say…”

“I don’t care what you say! You can’t understand.”

“I can’t. But I can be here. I want to be here. I want to talk about her.” And while it’s not exactly true that he _wants_ to, Ben needs to and Dean can suck it up. Hell, Dean thinks he might need to as much as Ben. “I want to remember her smile and the way her pumpkin pie tasted and how her fingers felt when she was checking for a fever.”

And he wants to remember a few things he won’t share with Ben, but he tamps down the thoughts before they can turn inappropriate.

“Yeah, well I don’t,” Ben spits. “Just… stop it. Dean, just… don’t.”

So Dean doesn’t have the option but to do anything other than stop forcing therapy on a kid who doesn’t want it and apart from Ben’s stony silences and Sam’s pitying glances when Dean yet again smiles stupidly and tells Ben to ‘have a great day at school’, there isn’t much indication to anyone beyond the three of them that anything is really wrong at all.

Ben hasn’t been kicked out of school, Dean’s down to three bottles a week and Sam’s actually learned to cook a pretty mean chilli.

They pretend really fucking well. Dean wonders, not for the first time, if Ben really isn’t a Winchester after all.

***

Naturally, just after Dean’s decided that they can go on pretending until Ben turns eighteen and moves off to college, things start to go to shit pretty damn fast.

It starts with a phone call. A few weeks into his stint at his new school, Dean gets a call from the principal informing him that Ben has missed a class. Dean dutifully tells her that he’ll look into it, but he doesn’t.

Ben’s fourteen. When Dean was fourteen he was lucky if he made _half_ his classes in a day and Ben missing one of them, especially when he’s just lost his mother and his entire life has been uprooted, isn’t something Dean’s going to sweat. It’s just Ben settling in and if he has to rebel a little to find his way, then Dean can wait it out. He’s a good kid, Dean knows he is and he’ll come around.

Unfortunately, it won’t be any time soon.

Over the next several weeks Dean’s phone starts ringing with increasing frequency. Ben’s cutting more and more classes, he’s not doing his homework, he’s hanging around with ‘unfavourable influences’ according to Ms. Stewart (which Dean sort of takes personal offence to, because he’s sure he was one of those _unfavourable influences_ in his own teenage years and he turned out pretty friggin’ okay).

Discipline was always Lisa’s thing. She’d talk to Ben like he was older than he is, find out why he was acting out and make it about all three of them, find a solution so that Ben would fall in line but the whole family would be accountable. 

Shit like ‘If you’re having trouble with your school assignments one of us will make sure we’re here every night to help’ or ‘If you miss the bus home after school, call Dean and he’ll come get you so you’re not late for supper’.

It worked. Ben was always pretty well-behaved, despite the expected pre-teen bouts of not eating his veggies or staying up past his bedtime, but while Lisa reached out Dean mostly rolled his eyes in the background and thought that if it was up to him, he’d just ground Ben until he smartened up.

That was always his father’s way, and it worked for Dean and Sam.

Only now Dean doesn’t have the luxury of ‘if’, because it _is_ up to him. Ben is _his_. He has been since he first moved in with him and Lisa when Ben was ten, but even more so now and he’s got to acknowledge for the first time that he can’t just sit back and let someone else deal with it. _Dean_ has to deal with it, ill-equipped as he is.

When Ben gets suspended for two days for smoking under the elm tree out by the baseball diamond Dean sits him down and actually acknowledges for the first time that something isn’t right. 

“What are you, an idiot?” he asks and Ben’s surprised eyes snap up to his as he sits up straighter on the couch.

Sam stares at Dean with wide eyes, a slightly open mouth and this look that says that this is _not_ the way to deal with an unruly ninth grader who is going through a seriously hard time.

Dean ignores them both and paces across the living room floor twice before he looks back at Ben.

“No smoking,” he growls, voice tense and stern as he points a finger in Ben’s direction. “Ever.”

Ben’s lip quivers and Dean’s eyes harden. He knows the kid is having a shit time of it, he does, but he sort of doesn’t care. It’s his job to keep Ben alive and… “Seriously, Ben. Cigarettes? What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Dean,” Sam says quietly. “You smoked when you were his age. For years.”

“Did I ask for your fuckin’ input?” Dean snaps as he turns to his brother.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam answers simply, nothing more than the low growl he uses when he's sick of Dean's shit. Dean knows that voice.

He sighs and turns his head, sits down next to Ben on the couch.

“I’m pretty sure this is a one man job,” he says, looking up at Sam and Sam stares at him for a beat longer, but he leaves them alone. Dean waits until he hears Sam’s bedroom door close upstairs before he turns to Ben and awkwardly puts his arm around Ben’s shoulders.

He rubs it over Ben’s upper arm a few times and feels like a complete tool before he cups the side of Ben’s head and pulls it into his chest, hugging him a little to tight for only a second before he lets go completely and pushes away a few inches on the cushion.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re a good kid, Ben. And I want you to stay that way. Cutting class, smoking… what’s next? You gonna knock over a friggin’ liquor store with those hooligan friends of yours?”

Jesus fucking Christ, did he just say _hooligan_?

“They’re my friends,” Ben bites out, gives Dean a petulant look. “You don’t even know them. They’re…”

“Ben. You’re smarter than this. Smoking is not cool, man.”

Ben sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Got it. Are we done? Because I have homework.”

“We’re done when I say we’re done. And I don’t really like your attitude, buddy.”

“Whatever. It’s not like you’re my dad.”

Dean blinks and he feels that like a kick to the chest, because no, he’s not Ben’s dad, but he’s the closest thing the kid’s ever had to one.

“No,” Dean agrees with a forced calm. “I’m not. But don’t forget that you’re the one who wanted to come here. If you’ve changed your mind, it’s not too late to go to your aunt’s place.”

Dean barely has time to regret those words (and _holy fuck_ does he ever, because that was possibly the most wrong thing he has ever said and he really, really didn’t mean it) before Ben jumps up off the couch with his mouth hanging open.

“If you didn’t want me here, you should have just said something!” he shouts, his voice cracking and breaking from more than just his changing hormone levels and he runs out of the room and up the stairs. 

Seconds later Dean flinches as he hears Ben’s bedroom door slam shut.

“Father of the fucking year,” Dean mumbles to himself and wanders over to the liquor cabinet to pour a glass of whisky.

***

Things don’t get better from there.

***

Ben gets into a fight on a Thursday evening in the parking lot of the mall down the road.

He’s with his friends when it happens and Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t get the full story when Ben explains it to him after Dean drags him home, ice pack held to his right eye and tissue stuffed up his nose.

“They were asking for it,” Ben says, defending himself against accusations that Dean hasn’t made yet. “They’ve been making fun of us for weeks, calling us names and shit. And we didn’t start it! One of them punched Jesse in the face, totally unprovoked. We had to stand up for ourselves, Dean. You taught me that.”

The thing is, Ben’s right. If some little shit is fucking with him, then hell yes Dean wants him to pop to the kid one so he knows to back the fuck off. Dean isn’t raising a pussy. But he also knows that fighting is wrong, and even if Dean’s the first one to solve his problems with a well-placed fist, Ben should really know better.

“I’m glad you didn’t take anyone’s crap, Ben,” he says, taking the tissue under Ben’s nose between his fingers and dabbing it carefully before pulling it away and handing him a new one. “But those security guys said you were _wailing_ on that guy before I showed up. You’re damn lucky all that happened was you got banned from the mall for a week.”

“He started it!” 

“I know, bud. And when you don’t have any other choice, let ‘em friggin’ have it. By all means. But if it’s possible, you gotta be the bigger man. I know you know how to do that. You’ve been doing that all your life. You’re a good kid. Or, you have been anyway.”

“Yeah,” Ben bites out, taking the ice pack off his eye and scowling at Dean, suddenly done playing nice. “Until I moved in with you.”

Ben gets up then and heads to his room. Again.

Dean barely gets the chance to mumble “I’m sorry,” to Ben’s quickly retreating back before he’s alone and cleaning up a mess of bloody tissues.

***

Dean’s been working a lot lately. It’s great, because he’s taking on a lot of extra business and making a shit tonne of money, but he feels guilty as fuck. He knows he’s neglecting Ben, coming into the garage early and staying late so he won’t have sit through stony silences over breakfast or suffer his side-eyed glares while they eat supper in front of the television. Won’t have to yell at Ben to do his homework or ground him when he breaks curfew or take his cell phone away when he fails a test.

Won’t have to fight the urge to grab Ben in a fierce hug, wrap the kid up in his arms and tell him how sorry he is that he wasn’t there, that he left them alone in Cicero and came back to Lawrence, that he was somewhere else, fucking some girl whose name he can’t even remember when Lisa was killed, that he can’t bring her back, that he can’t do _anything_. That he’s letting Ben down every single goddamned day and he knows, he _knows_ what Ben is going through and he just wants to make it better but he _can’t_.

So he stays away.

***

It’s Saturday night. Dean sticks around the shop until just after ten, playing poker with Ash and Andy and when they’re finished he’s still not in the mood to go home. Sam’s out tonight – a date with a girl he met at the art gallery last week – and if Dean goes home it’ll be just him and Ben. If Ben’s even there. He’s grounded right now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Fuck,” he sighs, and slides his phone out of his pocket as he leans up against his car, waving at Andy and Ash as they drive away. He dials the house and after two rings Ben picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ben.”

“Dean. What’s up?” He doesn’t sound friendly, exactly, but his tone is warmer than Dean had been expecting.

“Nothing. Just…” Just checking to make sure you’re actually home, instead of out snorting blow off hookers. “I’m still at work. I might be a while. Sam’ll probably be late, too. You gonna be okay?”

He hears Ben sigh over the line and he knows the kid is rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, Dean, I think I’ll manage.”

“Okay. And Corrine called earlier, lookin’ for you. She wants you to phone her back.”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll uh… call me if you need anything. Okay? And do your homework,” he adds. See? He can parent.

“Sure,” Ben snorts, right before hangs up.

“Fuck.”

***

He takes the fifty bucks he won at cards and heads to the Roadhouse, a dive just outside town owned by an old friend his dad’s. Ellen cuts him off after three beers since he refuses to give up his keys and the beefy guy by the dartboard who’s giving him the eye is kinda hot, but he leaves with a curvy redhead in a short skirt. She’s sexy as hell and he really wants to fuck her, wants to get lost for a little while in the temping swell of her breasts and the way she smells like strawberries. Wants to forget about everything else for just a few minutes, an hour, but when he drives her home and she asks him inside, he declines. 

It’s past midnight now and if Sam got lucky he might not even be coming home tonight at all and he really should get back and make sure Ben is okay.

She pouts prettily, her full bottom lip pushing out just slightly but she kisses him anyway, a kiss that leaves Dean panting and hard and she takes him out and quickly sucks him off right there in the front seat, in her driveway.

He doesn’t ask for her number and she doesn’t offer.

***

He gets home half an hour later and Sam is sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, three empty liquor bottles on the table in front of him. Dean’s pretty sure all three of them were at least half full when he left for work that morning.

“Wow, Sammy,” Dean jokes. “Sarah shoot you down so hard you had to start the party without me?”

Sam looks up at him, eyes clear and sober and deadly.

“You need to talk to Ben,” he tells Dean, voice low and cold and Dean blinks, because Sam doesn’t often order Dean around.

“I… what?”

“And I don’t just mean ‘Go to your room’, ‘You’re grounded until you bring home a B’, ‘Don’t talk back to me or I’ll take away your comics’ kind of talk. I mean _talk_. Ben is… he’s _messed up_ , Dean. And he needs you and you’re not here. I’ve been trying. Trying to pick up the slack and trying to give him space, but he doesn’t need me. He doesn’t want me. You’re letting him down and he’s acting out.”

“Sammy,” Dean warns, but Sam ignores him, keeps pushing.

“At first it was grief. I mean, I sort of don’t blame him, what he went through and all. But now I think… I mean I’m sure he still misses Lisa, I’m sure he’s still hurting over that. But now I think he’s mostly doing it to get your attention. He lost one parent and now he’s losing another, only it’s worse because you’re _right here_ and he thinks you don’t want him. That you’re leaving him on purpose.”

“Well, thanks Doctor Phil,” Dean spits out. “But I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

“Well you’re getting it anyway. I’ve kept my mouth shut, Dean, because you and Ben have both been going through something incredibly difficult and I didn’t want to push. But don’t forget, you’re the one that asked me to come home, asked for my help, and part of that is me telling you when you’re being a selfish dick. This?” he says, gesturing to the empty bottles. “This is your fault.”

“ _Ben_ did this?” Dean squeaks, mouth hanging open as his eyes dart from bottle to bottle – tequila, vodka, scotch. 

“Ben and his friends,” Sam says with a single nod. “Jesse and Lucas were here. They were three sheets to the wind when I got home about an hour ago. I sent Ben to his room and drove the other two home.”

“Fuck,” Dean curses for the third time that night as he sinks into a chair next to Sam. “Fuck.”

His head falls forward and he rubs at his forehead with his right hand, the spot behind his eyes starting to throb dully, an ache that’ll turn to stabbing pain soon, he’s sure.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he says, looking up at his brother. “That wasn’t… I should have been here. You shouldn’t have had to do that. That shit’s my responsibility.”

Sam shakes his head and sighs.

“No, that’s not… Look, Dean, I don’t mind helping out, okay? That’s what I’m here for. But you’re right that you should have been here. You should be here more than you are. You need to reach out to him.”

Dean breathes out long and slow through his nose and pushes back in his chair, legs falling open and hands resting on his thighs. Sam’s right, of course. Dean needs to be around more, he needs to show Ben that he cares instead of just shouting at him to do better. He needs to lead by example instead of hiding himself away at work and in the bottle when he gets home. He needs to be better so that Ben can be better. He knows what he has to do.

That doesn’t change the fact that he still doesn’t know _how_.

“I want to be there for him. I want to be what he needs right now, and I tried, I did. But I... I look at him and I see Lisa. And it _hurts_. Makes it really fuckin’ hard to do the sharing and caring thing, you know? Especially when Ben doesn’t even want it.”

“I know. But you have to.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, tilts his head back and rubs his fingers hard over his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Trust me, it’s fucking killing me, seeing him like this. Shit, Sam I just want to… I don’t know, wave a magic wand and make him stop hurting but I feel like anything I say is just gonna make it worse.”

“How?” Sam scoffs. “That’s bullshit, Dean. I wasn’t much older than Ben when we lost Dad and you helped me through that. You can do better for him than this. You’re not as emotionally stunted as you like to pretend. Just make sure he knows he’s not alone.”

“I will,” Dean promises and he actually thinks he means it. All this time and he’s only tried to actually _talk_ with him once but he’d just thought that Corrine was probably a better sounding board, a better source of comfort. Denial has always been kind of a way of life, after all. “But first I need to kick his ass for this.”

“You should probably wait until morning,” Sam tells him. “He was passed out before I got back home. I doubt he’s in any shape right now to hear it.”

“I can’t fuckin’ believe… He’s a good kid, you know?” Dean says and Sam nods.

“He is.”

“Strong and brave and smart.”

“He is.”

“How could he… How could _I_ let him…? God, I miss Lisa,” he whispers, on the verge of tears. Why is this so fucking hard? “ _So much_.”

Dean stands up and snatches the empties off the table with an angry swipe of his arms. He crosses the room and tosses them in the recycling bin in the corner and when he turns around Sam’s right there in front of him.

Dean’s eyes are wet, watering slightly and he looks away, doesn’t want Sam to see him even if he’s not actually crying.

And then suddenly Sam’s arms are around him, hands clenched into fists and digging into the backs of his shoulders. Dean sucks in a shaky breath and when he lets it out he deflates, goes almost limp against Sam, buries his face in the side of Sam’s neck and hugs him back.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam whispers, soft and low, as if afraid he’ll spook Dean. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Dean’s not sure it is, but he lets Sam hold him anyway. It’s been a damn long time since they’ve had to hug anything out and it feels too damn good.

***

He knocks on Ben’s bedroom door at seven o’clock the next morning and is met with a mumbled reply that sounds vaguely like ‘go away’. Dean ignores him and opens the door anyway. It’s not something he does a lot of – he values his privacy and he respects Ben’s – but right now he knows that all Ben’s doing is sleeping it off and he’s kind of got a point to make.

“Mornin’ sunshine!” Dean greets with false cheer as the door smacks into the wall where he’s slammed it open.

“Go _away_ ,” Ben groans again and lifts up his pillow to bury his head underneath it. 

“Sorry, pal,” Dean tells him, not sorry at all as he grabs Ben’s blanket and yanks it off him, tossing it to the floor. “Up and at ‘em. Lawn needs mowin’.”

“Ugh,” Ben grumbles, sits up and rubs his palm over his face. He looks up at Dean, red-eyed and spiky-haired and Dean can tell he’s definitely hung over. Hell, he might even still be a little drunk. He must have had a shitload to drink. “Dean, it’s 55 degrees out. I don’t think the grass has grown in a month.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, grabs a pair of Ben’s jeans off the floor and throws them at the kid. Ben catches them so that they don’t hit him in the face and he scowls. “So it shouldn’t take you too long, huh?”

“Dean, come on. Can’t I just…”

“I want it done in an hour,” Dean cuts him off and when Ben just sits there and stares at him Dean raises an expectant eyebrow. A few seconds later Ben sighs and starts to pull on his jeans.

***

He’s sitting at the kitchen table with the paper ten minutes later when he hears the mower start up and thirty minutes after that Sam comes downstairs and pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot, sits down at the table next to Dean.

“How’d it go?”

Dean just shrugs and fills in one of the crossword answers. He goes with _opium_ even though _onion_ fits too, but he’s not really sure either of them qualifies as a ‘heavily spiced stew’. 

“Did you talk with him?”

Dean shrugs again and takes a drink of his orange juice.

“Dean…”

“So how’d it go with Sarah?” Dean asks, changing the subject in a very obvious and final way.

Sam sighs and shakes his head but then he smiles slightly and Dean can’t help but smile along with him.

“Real good, man,” Sam tells him, looking at some imaginary point near the ceiling, half lost in the memories. “We really hit it off. I’m taking her out again next weekend.”

“That’s great, Sammy,” Dean tells him. It really is. Sam hasn’t dated much the past few years. Not since he moved back to Lawrence and him and Jess broke up. “You’ll have to bring her by sometime.”

“And expose her to you before I absolutely have to?” Sam teases.

“Afraid I’ll steal her away?”

“You wish. More like I’m afraid you’ll scare her off.”

“Pfft. Chicks love me. You know it.”

Sam rolls his eyes and gets up to pour himself a bowl of cereal. He puts the Muslei back in the cupboard and he sticks his head in the fridge to look for the milk when the back door opens and Ben comes inside.

Sam turns around and shuts the fridge door behind him, looks back and forth between Dean and Ben with the milk jug in his hand.

Ben looks haggard, even worse than when Dean woke him up less than an hour ago; he takes a deep breath and slumps against the kitchen counter. Dean gets up and fills a glass with water from the tap, grabs a couple of Tylenol from the cupboard over the fridge and offers them both to Ben.

Ben takes them both gratefully, tossing back the pills and swallowing them down with half the glass of water. He looks at Dean hesitantly, like maybe he’s waiting for Dean to tell him to wash the dishes and do the laundry while he’s up. Dean just takes him by the shoulders and sits him down at the table, grabs a couple of Pop-Tarts out of the cupboard and puts them down on a plate in front of him, along with a glass of apple juice.

“Thanks,” Ben croaks, voice crackly and tired from alcohol and physical exertion.

“No more booze, you got that?” Dean says, instead of ‘you’re welcome’. “Not until you’re twenty-one.”

“Whatever,” Ben agrees absently, not really in any shape to argue. He picks up his plate and his glass and takes them both up to his room without looking back.

“Sort of not what I meant by ‘talk to him’, Dean,” Sam says from behind him and Dean jolts, having forgotten for a moment that Sam was even in the room.

Sam pours the milk into his bowl but stays standing next to the sink.

“I’ll get to it.”

***

A week passes.

A week in which Dean doesn’t actually get to it.

Oh, he talks with Ben. 

He watches the first two Transformers movies with him and tells him how he used to imagine Optimus Prime actually coming to Earth to be his best friend when he was six. He watches Thundercats with him way past lights out for Ben and tells him about how Sam used to have a big gay crush on Liono when he was ten.

He makes fried chicken with him and tells him about how you shouldn’t use too much flour because it’ll make it gummy. He calls for Chinese and tells Ben he should always ask for no MSG. It probably won’t matter in the long run, but it tastes the same without it, so why the hell not?

He plays NHL Gamecenter with him almost every night on the PS3 and explains how hockey fans from their neck of the woods are just retired Canadians or bandwagon douchebags and baseball is really the only way to go.

They still haven’t talked about Lisa, though. Dean’s still lying to himself that Ben’s going to be okay so long as they keep pretending and he makes a note to take Ben to visit his aunt Corrine sometime soon.

He can’t do this alone, can’t even do it with Sam, apparently, and the last thing he wants to do, _ever_ is give Ben up, but if they can’t fix this shit, and _soon_ , Dean doesn’t know that he has a choice. Ben’s gotta come first, no matter that it would kill Dean to lose him like that again.

And he’s going to do his damndest not to let it come to that.

***

He calls Corrine and Paul on a Tuesday morning and makes a plan to take Ben out to see them on the weekend. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe all he needs is to see his family, to be surrounded by something familiar, to be home.

They fly down to Cicero on Friday night and come back again on Sunday afternoon, a day and a half they’re there, and Ben’s sullen and withdrawn almost the entire time. He barely eats and he answers his family in grunts and monosyllables.

It’s just like being at home with the kid only much less confrontational. Shit, if this is what their telephone conversations have been like, things are even worse than Dean thought. Ben’s had _nobody_ to talk to this whole time. He’s been completely alone.

***

Dean catches Corrine sitting alone in the dimly lit living room, sometime in the middle of Friday night. She’s wiping at blotchy, tear-streaked cheeks with a soggy tissue and he clears his throat to let her know he’s there before he joins her on the couch.

She gives him a watery smile and he puts his arm around her and neither of them says anything as she leans into him, but it’s nice just the same.

They stay that way until Paul comes downstairs at five-thirty in the morning and Dean gives up his spot. He goes to bed and manages to doze for a few hours.

***

The only time Ben smiles is when he holds his baby cousin and feeds him Cheerios, when he thinks nobody is looking and he tells Kyle the stories of Superman and The Hobbit and Cthulu. And when Ben thinks everyone else is asleep, Dean hears him sneak into the baby’s room and tell him about Lisa.

It’s something, at least. Ben’s talking, even if Kyle doesn’t understand a word of it. He can’t judge, he can’t pity, can’t do anything but snooze softly with his little fist curled tight around Ben’s finger.

It’s probably exactly what Ben’s needed.

Dean promises himself that they’ll make this visit a regular thing, but he’s not giving up on the idea of Ben actually talking to _him_ one of these days soon.

***

Ben doesn’t want to go to the cemetery with Dean and Dean doesn’t want to force him, so he goes alone, late Saturday night. He brings lilies, Lisa’s favourite and he spends more than an hour just staring at the smooth marble headstone before he kneels next to it. 

The cold of the ground soaks into his knees through worn denim and flesh as he puts the flowers down, takes a deep breath and starts to talk.

He tells her everything, tells her how he’s failing, lost and angry and he’s scared he can’t handle it, can’t do this alone. He’s trying, he really is and he knows that sometimes Ben’s trying too, but they just can’t seem to meet in the middle anymore. Not like they used to. Not without Lisa.

He tells her about Sam moving back home and how business is good and he tells her that he loves her. Most of all, he loves her.

It’s another hour before his throat is getting tight and he’s got nothing left to say and he blinks a few times, swallows back most of the tears of frustration and sorrow that want to fall and he stands up.

He feels… Not good, not by a long shot, but. Better, maybe.

“Bye, Lisa,” he whispers, almost chokes on his next breath and he lets his fingers skim the letters of her name, engraved in sleek gray marble, as he walks away.

***

After they get back to Lawrence again Dean sits Ben down at the kitchen table, grabs them each a coke out of the fridge and doesn’t give Ben a choice but to shut up and stay still when he starts talking.

Ben doesn’t say much back, but he listens quietly as Dean reminisces about a camping trip the three of them took a couple of years ago and how Lisa caught a bigger fish than either of the boys and didn’t let them forget it for months.

He lets Dean go on about how she always made him pick his socks up off the floor and how she never let Ben get away with saying he was too full for his veggies but still had room for dessert and how she had the sweetest voice when she sang.

He tells Ben that he has her laugh and her stubbornness and her eyes. 

He tells Ben he loves him and that he’ll be there for him as long as he lives and he hopes it’s enough, hopes maybe just hearing about his mom again from someone who loved her, too will at least do _something_.

He’s not sure if it works, but by the time he goes to bed that night, Dean’s starting to feel like they’ve got a shot.

***

A week later Dean gets a call at the garage and has to come pick Ben up from school. He was caught making out Shelly Holt in the janitor’s closet during his fifth period Spanish class and now he’s suspended for two days.

The first thing he feels when he hears about it, much as he tries to pretend it’s not the case, is a twinge of pride.

Under different circumstances, he would have congratulated the kid. God knows Dean’s gotten in enough trouble at school for the very same thing, but it’s different now because this is _Ben_. It’s Dean job to keep him out of trouble, not encourage it, much as he’d sometimes like to.

And this kind of thing isn’t him, isn’t the Ben he knows, the Ben he’s spent the past half decade helping to raise. Ben has always gone to class and done his homework and if he’s interested in girls now that’s okay. That’s great, in fact, because he’s about old enough and Dean would honestly start to worry if he wasn’t trying to get a little action, but this isn’t just a harmless one off.

It’s the most recent fuck-up in an ever increasing line of fuck-ups.

Besides, Dean had assumed he’d taken his last trip to the principal’s office back when he was in twelfth grade and he’d told Mr. Marshall that he was dropping out. So a ten minute lecture from Ben’s principal on his questionable parenting hasn’t done much for Dean’s mood and as a result, any charitable notions he’d had about maybe going easy on Ben pass way before they get home.

As soon as they walk in the door, Ben makes for the stairs, for the sanctuary of his bedroom but before he can take more than a couple of steps in the direction of the staircase Dean reaches out his left arm and clamps his hand down tightly over Ben’s shoulder.

“Sit your ass down on the couch,” he growls. “And don’t even think about moving until I get back.”

Ben shoots him a dirty look but he drops his backpack on the floor and makes for the living room.

Dean’s not gone for long. Only as long as it takes to drink a glass of water from the kitchen tap and take a few deep breaths. He’s pissed at Ben and the kid needs to be punished, but Dean doesn’t want to take out the dregs of his own personal feelings of failure and inadequacy on him.

When he gets back to the living room Ben’s sitting on the couch, as ordered. He’s scrunched into the corner and he’s got his cell phone in his lap, thumbs working rapid-fire over the touchscreen.

“Put it down,” Dean says and Ben barely spares him a glance before he looks back down at his phone. Dean gives it a few more seconds and finally Ben sighs and stuffs the phone back in his pocket.

“What?” he asks. “I was in the middle of something.”

Dean considers telling Ben that yeah, he’s about to be in the middle of a severe ass-kicking, but it doesn’t exactly feel productive, so he swallows down the urge.

“The hell were you thinking?” he asks instead. “I mean, Ben. I can get behind a little lip action with a pretty girl – trust me, man – but after all the stuff you’re catching shit for, I think there are probably better times and better places.”

“So,” Ben starts, pulling his brows tight like he’s actually considering, even though Dean can tell he’s being sarcastic as hell. “You’re upset that I got caught, not that I ditched class?”

Dean’s proud of himself for not rising to the bait.

“I’m upset that you’re not acting like yourself. A little teenage rebellion is one thing, but if you keep this shit up you’re gonna screw yourself out of a good future. You don’t want that. And even if you do, I’m not going to let you. School is… you know. Important and shit.”

“Yeah, it was so important for you, when you dropped out of high school, right?”

“That was different,” Dean tells him. He can feel his jaw tightening, can hear his voice harden and he can’t stop it. It _was_ different. “My dad needed help at the shop, we needed the money. Besides, Sam was always the brains in the family. He stayed in school and now look – fancy pants lawyer boy. Don’t you want be able to do something like that too?”

“So what? Your life would have been better if you’d stayed in school?” Ben sounds flat, bored, and it only pisses Dean off more. “If you got straight A’s and went to college like Sam you’d be happier?”

“No,” he sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair and making the short spikes stick up in all directions. Fuck, why is this so hard? Dean _likes_ his life, wouldn’t change any of it. He likes his job and he likes his friends and sure – he misses Lisa like air, but that has nothing to do with his education. Truth is, staying in school wouldn’t have done him any good at all, because he’d still be exactly where he is. 

As far as Dean’s concerned there’s not a damn thing wrong with small town life and fuck anyone who thinks you need a fancy office job and a big city apartment to be a success. 

The point is, he wants Ben to have options. 

But telling Ben that probably won’t make a damn bit of difference, not with Ben so hard set on disagreeing with absolutely everything Dean says right now, so he just pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “Don’t cut anymore classes.”

“Look, whatever,” Ben says, sighing and palming his pocket when he feels his phone vibrate. “Are we done?”

“You’re grounded,” Dean says and watches Ben roll his eyes as he gets up and heads for his room.

“Yeah, figured,” Ben mumbles as he stomps up the stairs and Dean doesn’t get the chance to tell him the reason Dean won’t let him piss his life away. Doesn’t get the chance to say that it’s because he cares about Ben more than he’s ever cared about anyone but Sam in his whole life. 

He wouldn’t know how to make Ben believe him, anyway.

***

Four hours later, after he’s promised Jo time and half to sit in his living room and make sure Ben doesn’t leave the house, he’s out at the Roadhouse with Sam, half way through a bottle of vodka.

Most of that half is working it’s way through Sam’s bloodstream at the moment, since Dean’s more of a whisky guy, but Dean’s still got a pretty good buzz and when a pretty girl across the room smiles at him and looks him up and down, he can almost pretend that everything is back to normal again and he’s not completely responsible for making sure a whole human life doesn’t end up in the gutter.

He smiles back at the girl. He’s pretty sure he could go home with her, it’s been a little while and really, he could do with the distraction. He puts the thought on hold for the time being, decides to come back to it at the end of the night, if they’re both still interested. Right now is brother time, and it’s been even longer since he’s had any of that.

“No, but seriously,” Sam is saying, as he leans a little too close to Dean and sloshes some of the clear liquor over the top of his glass. Dean warned him not to drink it straight, but he’s glad Sam didn’t take his advice. “Sarah. I’m telling you, she’s awesome.”

“That’s great, Sammy,” Dean says and even though he knows he sounds distant, feels distant because he has so much of his own shit to worry about, he really does think it’s great. “You deserve someone awesome.”

“No, but she’s… She’s _really_ awesome. Like… She’s so pretty and she’s so smart and she’s _funny_ too, you know? Like she’s… _awesome_.”

Dean laughs a little, despite everything, because a drunk Sam is a funny Sam, no matter how maudlin he sometimes gets. But also because the idea of Sam, actually happy with someone, in a relationship that might really be going somewhere after the heartbreak of leaving Jess behind in California – it makes _Dean_ happy.

He thinks maybe Sam might really have something, this time. He might get the girl and the house and the garden and the soccer games and the happily ever after, just like he’s always wanted.

Hell, if Dean’s being honest, he wants that too. Thought he had it for a while, but. Well. Doesn’t matter now. Tonight isn’t the time to think about shit like that, anyway. Tonight he needs a fucking break before he loses his shit in a major way. He needs to get drunk and play pool with Sam, needs to listen to a shitload of classic rock on the jukebox, needs to feel like he’s normal again.

And yeah, maybe he needs to get laid.

“Well, let’s just hope she doesn’t clue in that she’s too good for you, huh?” Dean teases, taking the bottle from Sam’s unsteady fingers and filling up both their glasses again. “And since you guys have been dating for a few weeks now, maybe you could bring her over to the house sometime. I promise I won’t bang her while you’re in the bathroom fixing your hair.”

“You wish,” Sam snarls, frowns and pushes at Dean with a huge, solid paw to his chest. “She’s way too awesome to fall for your shit.”

“You underestimate my ‘shit’,” Dean tells him, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head down. Sam’s so much fun when he can’t think straight. “I can get _anyone_ to fall for it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Sam says, voice kind of light and breathy, like he can’t even bring himself to say it for real. “Dean. You wouldn’t, man. She’s… I saw her first!”

Dean laughs then, the vibrations settling deep and warm in his belly. He throws an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Relax, Sammy. I promise to be a perfect gentleman. So hey, what do you say we shoot some stick? Five bucks a ball?”

“You’re on, jackass,” Sam grumbles, pulling out from under Dean’s arm. When he stands up he wobbles a little and Dean almost feels bad about the hundred dollars he’s about to steal from the kid.

***

It’s ten o’clock on Tuesday night, a school night. Ben’s not grounded anymore, had asked Dean if he could go get a burger with his friends after school and Dean, being amazingly cool and understanding and forgiving, had said it was fine. And it _was_ fine. It would have been fine, anyway, but Ben’s curfew was two hours ago.

Dean’s been calling the kid’s cell phone every five minutes since eight fifteen and he doesn’t let out the breath of relief he’s been holding in until he answers the knock at his door and sees Ben standing sheepishly behind a police officer, head ducked down and hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets.

Ben’s in shit, obviously, but he’s still alive and ultimately that’s all that matters. At least until Dean makes sure he’s not seriously hurt and he hasn’t killed anyone. Then Dean’s going to kick his ass. For all the good it’ll friggin’ do. Kid won’t listen to shit.

“Mr. Winchester?” the cop asks, and Dean’s eyes shoot up from Ben’s face to actually look at the man he’s barely noticed so far. And boy does he notice, now. The guy is… hot. Doesn’t fit any stereotypical picture of a cop that Dean’s got in his head. He’s not tall and beefy, like the kind of police officer you’d find in romance movies or theme porn, he’s not short and fat from donuts like the cops in sitcoms and he’s not skinny, nerdy glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s slender, looks strong, holds himself tall but doesn’t puff his chest out and the ill-fitting tan trench coat he’s wearing over his uniform is sitting on top of a very nice set of shoulders.

And his eyes. They’re certainly something. Blue and wide and they hardly blink when they stare Dean down. They match his shirt, actually, and Dean’s never really been into people in uniform (he’s got problems with authority), but he’s thinking about making an exception and taking this guy out for a spin.

At a more appropriate time, of course. When his kid isn’t facing possible criminal charges.

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam hisses from behind him, elbows Dean in the ribs and Dean blinks, jerks and realises he’s been staring.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s me. Dean Winchester.” He snaps his mouth shut and bites down on his tongue when he hears Sam snicker and the cop tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is there… a problem?”

He’s looking back at Ben now, silently daring him to make one of his usual smart-ass comments. Incredibly immature of him to egg the kid on like that, he knows. So does Ben, apparently, since he lets his eyes flicker to Dean’s before they look back to the ground. So, getting the police involved at least wipes that bored look off his face. Seems he’s able to take some things seriously after all. Good to know.

“He claims his name is Ben Winchester.” the cop says, stepping slightly to the side and guiding Ben out from behind him with a firm hand on his shoulder, “and that he lives here. Are you his father?”

“That depends,” Dean crosses his arms over his chest and stares Ben down. “What did he do?”

“He and two of his friends were found vandalising one of the walls outside the bus terminal downtown. Arrangements have been made for the three of them to re-paint the wall on Saturday morning. They’re to report to the custodian’s office at eight o’clock.”

“Son of a…” Dean mumbles, uncrossing his arms to rub his fingers over his chin, the tips scraping across his stubble. “Alright, get inside. Go to your room and wait for me. We’re gonna talk about this.”

Ben’s jaw ticks like he wants to say something, mouth off, maybe but he looks at the cop one more time and sighs, stays quiet instead and pushes past Dean and Sam and stomps up the stairs. 

After a beat, Sam puts one hand on Dean’s shoulder and with a start Dean realises he’s let his eyes drift again, that he’s gaping a little and starting to glaze over while his eyes come to rest on the soft curve of the cop’s lips.

“Shit,” he says, shakes Sam’s hand off but shoots him a brief, grateful look. “Look, Ben’s not… He doesn’t do shit like this. Usually. It’s just, uh…”

“I’m gonna go inside,” Sam says, leaning over to speak lowly into Dean’s ear. “Leave this to you.”

Dean nods and Sam slips through the door, leaves it open a crack. Dean looks back to the cop and takes a breath, cringes internally because he hates that he has to apologise. He _always_ hates when he has to apologise, especially when it’s warranted. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry about this. Of course I’ll have Ben there Saturday morning and if you could just… He really is a good kid.”

Dean knows he must sound like an idiot, but he can’t help it. This is as close as he gets to begging for mercy.

“As long as he cleans up the mess he made, I won’t put this on his record,” the cop says after a beat. “But please, try to make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“Yeah,” Dean says immediately. “Absolutely. Thanks, officer…”

“Milton,” the cop supplies with a quick nod of his head. “Castiel Milton. Most children rebel from time to time. Often it’s a cry for attention, a way to be heard when they feel like nobody is listening. It’s only a problem if you fail to learn from it.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says again, frowning. His fingers flex involuntarily at his sides and he shifts his weight from his left foot to his right. His instinct, one he’ll never follow but it’s there all the same, is to hit this guy. Because he’s cutting Ben a break here, sure, but there’s a line you just don’t cross, cop or not. And what’s sort of chaffing is that he’s probably right. “You learn from it when your kids, uh… _rebel_?”

“I don’t have any children,” Milton answers steadily, blinking at Dean. He might as well be saying ‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’

“No, of course you don’t,” Dean mumbles. He just knows how other people should be raising theirs. This Milton guy might be hot, but he’s kind of an arrogant dick. So while he’d _like_ to hit him, it’s probably best to play nice, at least until Ben’s off the hook. And, you know. He’s still hot, so there’s also that subconscious desire to be nice to him, just in case, which helps. “Anyway, thanks again. Do you maybe want to come in for some coffee or something? Least I could do after you brought Ben home safe. I’ve got pie.”

Officer Milton stands up straight at that, even straighter than before, shoulders back and chin tilted slightly to the side. “No,” he answers simply, through slightly slitted eyes and with a tight nod he turns, stalks to the end of the darkened driveway to his squad car and drives off.

O-kay. Weirdo.

He watches the taillights disappear around the corner before he turns around and steps through his front door.

“Oh, officer sexy, won’t you come in for a drink?” Sam asks in a falsetto, clasping his hands together in front of his chest and batting his eyelashes. “I just make the best darn lemonade you’ve ever tasted!”

“What?” Dean asks, kicking the door shut behind him and reaching back to secure the deadbolt.

“Dude, you were totally coming onto him.”

“No I wasn’t,” Dean scoffs. He twists his mouth up in a snarl and stalks into the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “I just asked him if he wanted to come in for a cup of joe after bringing my fucking kid home in the middle of the night. It’s called being polite.”

“It’s ten thirty,” Sam points out. “Hardly the middle of the night."

Dean ignores him in favour if drinking half the water in his glass. Honestly, he’s not even thirsty, he just wanted something to do with his hands. Something other than strangle Ben.

“Whatever, man,” Sam continues, following him into the kitchen with a snort of disbelief. “You practically swooned.”

“That was not… I do _not_ fucking swoon, asshole. He’s hot. So what? He’s a dick, anyway.”

“So, you’re back on guys, now?” Sam asks, taking the glass out of Dean’s hand and helping himself to the rest. 

“Gross, dude,” Dean teases, grinning and punching Sam in the arm. “You really want to know where my mouth has been?”

Sam lets his mouthful of water dribble back out into the glass and he puts it down on the counter. “Yeah, no.” He makes a face. “Not really. Speaking of which… You’re back onto guys?”

“What? No, I was never _off_ guys, really. I just… There was Lisa, for a long time. And then after that I just never… Anyway, shut up.”

Dean’s a pretty opportunistic lover. He does tend to prefer women, but sometimes a dude catches his eye and… well. Who is he to say no to his dick?

“Listen, Dean, I don’t care if you want to date a guy or a girl or whatever. I really don’t, you know that. Just… Be careful. You’re really vulnerable right now and I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

“I’m not… You know what, Sammy? Fuck off. I’m not _vulnerable_. Jesus. And I _wasn’t_ hitting on him.”

“You haven’t really dated anyone since Lisa,” Sam points out and Dean grits his teeth, because Sam has a point. “And now… Well, now you’re probably feeling pretty raw, considering. And you’ve got a lot of shit on your plate right now. If you need a little… release, there are probably better options than the cop who busted your son.”

“Sam,” Dean says, sighing openly. Yeah, Sam’s right. There are probably less complicated places to scratch that particular itch. Still, it’s not like he wanted to propose to Officer Milton, he was just being nice to a hot jerk who did him a favour. Where’s the fucking crime?

“I’ll shut up,” Sam promises, hands raised in surrender. “I’m just worried.”

“Yeah, and I’m worried that you’re gonna run off with a transvestite midget and join a travelling sideshow as the bearded lady, but I still manage to let you stick your dick where you like without making a federal case out of it.”

Sam lets out a short puff of breath and rolls his eyes. “Dean…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, cutting him off, waving a hand vaguely in front of Sam’s face. “Fine. Look, I’m gonna head up and talk to the kid.”

“Go easy on him,” Sam calls out when Dean’s passing through the living room and all Dean does is wave at him from half way up the stairs. Ben needs easy like a fucking hole in the head.

Dean takes the few longs steps between the top of the staircase and Ben’s bedroom and pauses, raps his knuckles against the door in a rapid knock and waits for Ben’s mumbled permission to step inside.

“Ben Winchester?” he asks, smiling slightly as he crosses the floor and stops in front of Ben’s bed. “Lying to the cops already? I don’t know whether to buy you a beer or kick your ass.”

“He looked kind of stupid,” Ben says, flipping the page on his comic book and kicking one foot in the air, back and forth. His other foot kicks at his pillow and he drums at the glossy pages with his fingers. “Went for the sympathy. Figured he’d go easier on me after he met my moron dad. I didn’t know you were gonna hit on him, but nice touch. Made you look even stupider.”

“I wasn’t hitting on him!” Dean almost shouts. “What the hell is wrong with you guys? Whatever.” He takes a breath and shakes his head because this really isn’t the point. “Look, you’ve got ten minutes until lights out. For the next two weeks I want you comin’ by the shop as soon as school’s over. You’ll sit your ass down in my office and do your damn homework until I’m ready to come home and after supper you’ll go straight to your room, no phone, no TV, no sneakin’ out with your asshat friends.”

“So I’m grounded. Wow, real creative, Dean.”

“You better check your attitude, kid,” Dean tells him, voice deadly serious as he angles his head slightly and meets Ben’s eyes. Ben stops his fingers and lets the comic book flutter closed on the bed in front of him. He swallows and bites his lip. “And you better think real hard about just exactly how much bullshit I’m willing to put up with.”

“What are you gonna do?” Ben challenges, pushes up from his elbows so that he’s sitting straight and raises his chin even though his voice is shaking slightly. “Send me away?”

“You know, dumb ain’t cute on you,” Dean says and he grinds his teeth together as he turns and leaves, slams the door shut behind him.

It’s not until later that night when he’s half way through a tall boy, a bag of pretzels and an old _Star Trek_ rerun on cable that he realises he didn’t tell Ben ‘no’.

***

Dean should be surprised, he really should, when two weeks later the same damn uniform is banging down his door and Ben is standing in front of him with that damn pathetic hang-dog look.

“Are you shitting me?” he asks, and Ben opens his mouth slightly but shuts it again quickly when Dean glares daggers through him. “What the _hell_?”

Sam shows up behind him then, presses his hand to Dean’s elbow and Dean jerks, looks down and realises he’s been pumping a fist over and over, a fist that could very likely end up smashed into the brick wall of the house if he doesn’t cool it. He takes a deep breath and nods at Sam, who ushers Ben inside and then he looks back at Milton.

“What did he do this time, officer?”

“Shoplifting,” the cop says. “He stole several comic books and a handful of candy bars from Star Convenience, on King Road. I managed to talk the proprietor out of pressing charges, as all the merchandise was recovered, but your son is forbidden from patronising that establishment in the future.”

“Uh…” Dean says, frowns and figures this guy doesn’t get a lot of casual conversation because he sounds kind of like a tool. His kid is a truant, nicotine-addicted, boozing, violent thief. Perfect. Better fit him for one of those World’s Greatest Dad t-shirts. “Shit. Thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that, but… thanks.”

“Of course,” Milton tells him and the tight lines around his mouth and eyes soften slightly. It’s a good look on him, even better than the bad-ass don’t-fuck-with-me look. “I’m not sure what issues he’s currently dealing with. It’s really not my business. But I can tell that he’s in pain and acting out. He needs help, not punishment.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, coughs a little, swallows and glances away and wonders if that was yet another not so subtle dig at Dean’s parenting skills. He hates playing the sympathy card, hates how people pity him, hates how weak it makes him, but he doesn’t think he’s got much choice here. Milton has been lenient so far, he’s gone above and beyond for them for no reason Dean can see and the least Dean owes him in return in honesty.

“Look, I know. Thing is, he recently lost his mom and it turns out I’m not quite as good at the whole fathering thing as we thought. It’s been… an adjustment. Again, thanks.”

He knows he sounds beyond awkward when the cop is just staring at him and he doesn’t have anything else to say besides, “Anyway, it was cool. You sure you don’t want to come in for that coffee?” 

Dean’s not sure that he really wants him to, especially since he’ll probably just keep telling Dean how much he sucks at life. And he doesn’t really want to have to deal with staring the guy in the face after he just spilled such a personal piece of information, put himself out there like that. It makes him feel naked, exposed. But he’s not sure what the protocol is here and he can’t help but feel like he needs to keep offering rewards until Milton accepts, until they’re even.

Plus, he’s still really, really hot and as long as they keep meeting like this, Dean sort of wants to keep his options open. He doesn’t have to like someone to want to sleep with them. In fact, some of his very best sex has been had with people he couldn’t stand.

Milton stares at Dean for a beat too long, long enough that Dean can see the slight tightening of his throat and the way he absently licks his bottom lip that lets Dean know there’s at least some basic level of interest there. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether people swing that way, but Dean’s gotten pretty good at reading the subtle clues. He hears the slight quickening of Milton’s breath and watches him watch Dean’s mouth very intently for a split second. But then he frowns, mouth pulling tight as he looks over Dean’s shoulder and through the crack in the door.

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Winchester,” he says when he looks back at Dean and Dean opens his mouth to protest, to say that he knows it’s not _necessary_ , he just _wants_ to, but before he gets the chance to say anything, Castiel’s squad car door is closing and the engine is revving up.

Huh, Dean thinks as Castiel backs out of the driveway and drives off. Maybe he’s a closet case or something. Shame.

He heads back inside and Sam hands him a beer.

“Strike two, huh?” he says, smirking a little. Bastard. “Losing your touch, old man.”

“Bite me,” Dean snaps and hands Sam the bottle back, makes to head up the stairs to talk to Ben.

“Dean, wait,” Sam says, stopping him. “Give it a few minutes, okay? Cool off a little first. Yelling and grounding him again obviously isn’t going to work. Don’t go up there when you’re on edge like this.”

Dean sighs heavily and grabs the beer back from Sam, pushes past him to the living and falls down on the couch.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, fine.”

Sam falls in beside him and they don’t talk for a long time. Eventually Sam turns on the television and Dean grabs them a couple more beers from the kitchen and by the time Dean heads to bed he’s managed to decompress enough that he actually sleeps pretty well.

***

Dean doesn’t ground Ben. 

He doesn’t yell at him, he doesn’t take away his video games and he doesn’t tell him he can’t see his friends.

He takes him out to a minor league baseball game on Saturday afternoon and then stops off for pizza and ice cream before they get home. He comes home early from work every day the next week and gets Ben to help him cook supper and he tries to check over the kid’s homework and he asks him about Spanish class and what’s happening on his favourite shows.

He acts like he cares. He _does_ care, it’s not just an act, but all that touchy-feely bullshit is really not Dean’s style and it comes off stilted and forced. Because he’s not an idiot, Ben picks up on it, misinterprets Dean’s skittish touches and awkward attempts at conversation. Thinks that spending time with him is a chore for Dean.

Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to get back what they had two years ago, the easy slide of their lives together, laughing at movies and sneaking an extra piece of pie when Lisa wasn’t looking and rebuilding an old Firebird together from the ground up on Saturday afternoons.

But now it’s all so fucking _hard_.

“Nobody’s forcing you to hang out with me, you know?” Ben practically snarls over his shoulder. He’s sitting at the kitchen table working a history paper and Dean’s behind him at the sink, washing dishes. Well, Ben’s _supposed_ to be working on a history paper, but Dean’s pretty sure he’s got a Playboy tucked inside his text book.

“Yeah, I know that, Ben,” Dean tells him. Fuck, this is so fucking awkward. He dries his hands off on the dish towel and tosses it down on the counter before turning around to lean against it. “I want to. We used to hang out all the time.”

Ben snorts and shakes his head, turns back to his schoolbooks.

“Things are different now,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “They are.” There’s no sense pretending that’s not the case. Things _are_ different, things will never be the same again. Dean can’t just be the cool guy who sneaks him into horror movies and teaches him how to throw a punch. He’s got to be the responsible one. “They can’t ever be like they were before, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still be good. Ben, we… Shit, I know we’re not doing such a bang-up job of adjusting to… everything… but that doesn’t mean I want to give up. Okay?”

“Yeah, good talk,” Ben says and slams his history book shut. “I’m done. Can I go to my room?”

He doesn’t wait for Dean to answer before he takes his things and disappears up the stairs.

***

The social worker comes to check up on them after three months. It’s a scheduled visit, something about making sure Ben’s in a suitable environment or whatever, that his needs are being met and he’s able to… live long and prosper. Dean doesn’t really know, kind of tunes out during the lecture parts of the monthly phone calls from Candice, but this is her first visit and Dean’s a little nervous. She says it’s pretty standard in situations like theirs, but Dean can’t help feeling like she’s coming for a reason, especially given how well things _haven’t_ been going.

Sam assures Dean that yes, this is normal, that no, the system does not have it in for them and they’re probably just coming to check and see if Ben has a roof over his head, three squares a day, isn’t covered in bruises and that he’s going to school.

And, well. Check marks all ‘round, most of the time. So they have nothing to worry about.

She’s young, Candice. Younger than Dean had pictured and pretty, with bright blue eyes and long dark hair. She’s nice, not pushy or nosey and she’s so smooth Dean almost doesn’t even realise he’s being interrogated. All three of them are on their best behaviour and they don’t lie to her when she asks how everything is going (because Dean suspects she’d see right through it) but they assure her they’re dealing, insist they’ll be okay. Ben’s where he wants to be and Dean wants him there, too.

She listens and makes notes and talks to them all on their own and takes a tour of the house. She leaves Dean with some pamphlets and a few phone numbers for some hotlines and she tells Ben that the school councillors are there to help, but she smiles genuinely at them when she goes and she doesn’t mention anything about taking Ben away.

Overall, it could have been worse.

***

Dean’s in the middle of a load of laundry in the basement when he hears the doorbell ring and immediately his stomach drops.

Ben’s not due home from Jesse’s house for another hour, but somehow Dean gets the feeling that he’s back early and he’s in trouble again. Call it father’s intuition.

He slams the dryer door shut and turns the dial, swears under his breath and goes up the stairs.

“Sam,” he can hear his brother saying, as he closes the basement door behind him and starts through the kitchen. Then quieter, more gentle, in a voice that sends a slight shiver over his skin, “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

Castiel Milton. Fuck. It’s not like Dean wasn’t expecting it and honestly, there’s a small twinge of excitement at the idea of seeing the guy, but Dean’s starting to miss the days where he only had to deal with school principals, instead of law enforcement.

“Your boyfriend’s here,” Ben snaps at him, elbowing past him on his way to the stairs leading to the second floor. “And it wasn’t even my fault this time. If you care.”

“Ben,” he starts, but he doesn’t give it much effort, just lets Ben storm off to his room and by the time he’s at the front door Milton is giving Sam a cool smile and stepping inside the house.

“Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble,” he says and Dean frowns at Sam when Milton nods at Dean and makes his way into the kitchen, following Sam’s gestures of direction.

“Coffee,” Sam answers the unspoken question and Dean’s mouth drops open.

“He comes in when _you_ ask him?”

“Maybe he’s just got good taste,” Sam says, smirking. Dean rolls his eyes but follows the other two into the kitchen and loads the coffee maker with grinds.

“Is anyone pressing charges?” Dean starts out by asking, crosses his arms over his chest and stands up as tall as he can. Stupid move, trying to intimidate a cop, especially one he wants to fuck, but it’s behaviour he picked up back in his pre-teen years and he’s never quite shaken it. 

“No,” Castiel tells him. “The house he was at was… loud. There was a party. Alcohol being served to minors, though I did not catch Ben with a drink in his hand when I was called there.”

Well, that’s good news, at least.

“So why the chauffeur home? If he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say he was entirely without cause for reprimand. He was, uh… hesitant to leave on his own. Told my partner to… mind his own business. He hit him with a water balloon.”

Dean can’t help it: he laughs.

“Dean,” Sam hisses with wide eyes and Milton just glares.

“Yeah,” Dean says, turning around to get three mugs out of the cupboard. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. Just… Can’t say I haven’t done the same thing, once or twice.”

“Dean, _shut up_ ,” Sam whispers when he gets up to grab the creamer from the fridge. “That’s probably not gonna help, you idiot.”

“This is hardly a joke, Dean,” Milton tells him and Dean freezes with his hand on the pot full of freshly brewed coffee, because it’s the first time the cop has called him _Dean_ and not _Mr. Winchester_. He kind of likes it. “Rules and laws are in place for a reason, they are to be followed completely. I’ve been lenient so far, done what I can to keep Ben out of serious trouble because I am… sympathetic to your situation. But if his behaviour continues or escalates, I’ll have no choice but to take further action. He’ll likely be assigned community service, or given a curfew.”

“Might be good for him,” Dean mumbles as he pours the coffee into the mugs that Sam’s placed next to him. Together they bring them to the table and the three men help themselves. “Sorry about all this, man. Really, I know he needs to smarten up and I know what I mentioned the other night isn’t an excuse, but we’ve all kind of been going through a lot and Ben’s taking it a lot harder than… than I thought. He’s really not a bad kid, though and I don’t… Anyway. I’ll get on it. Fix it.”

Milton looks from Dean to Sam and back again and then he blinks, a slight tension seems to leave his entire body as his shoulders relax and his face softens just the tiniest bit. “That’s…This must all be difficult.”

“Yeah. Ben just moved in with us a few months ago, had to leave all his friends behind, change his whole life so... It’s been an adjustment. I try talking to him, try punishing him, try being his best friend, but nothing seems to get through.”

“Some people tend to do better when speaking with someone else, someone not as close to home. Someone who’s trained in human behaviour.” Castiel takes a drink from his cup but his eyes don’t leave Dean’s. “Perhaps you’d consider letting Ben spend some time with a professional. It could help him, where you can’t.”

“You mean like a shrink?” Dean asks, tensing up and pushing back in his chair away from the table, away from Milton, where he’d started to lean a little too close.

“I mean like a psychiatrist, yes.”

“No,” Dean snaps, gripping his mug tighter, because he’s willing to admit when he’s screwing up and he’s willing to listen when he’s called out on it, but hearing someone he barely knows telling him Ben needs a _shrink_? Fuck no. “I don’t think that’s really for us.”

“Dean. Maybe you should…” Sam starts, reaching across the table to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The touch, while usually a grounding welcome these days, might as well be a slap and Dean flinches, grits his teeth and shakes Sam off. He doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Sam,” Dean all but growls and Sam lifts his hand, palm facing forward in silent surrender and takes a sip from his mug so Dean knows he’s done talking. For now.

When he turns back to Milton, he’s looking at Dean’s shoulder – where Sam’s hand had just been – with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Look, I appreciate the thought. And I appreciate you being so cool about all the shit Ben’s been getting into. But I mean, he’s not into drugs and he hasn’t joined a gang or shot anyone yet. I’ll deal with it.”

“Of course,” the officer nods but he reaches into his coat pocket for his wallet and slides a white business card across the table towards Dean. “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but…”

“Dr. Anna Milton?” Dean asks when he picks up the card.

“My sister,” Castiel says. “She specialises in children. And she’s very good. In case you change your mind.”

“Yeah,” Dean says and though he has no intention of calling this Dr. Anna Milton, something stops him from throwing the card away and he tucks it into the drawer of his bedside table before he falls asleep that night.

***

Jesse’s grounded for two weeks after the party he threw while his parents were out of town and Lucas has managed to find himself a girlfriend, so Ben’s been spending a lot of time at home by himself.

Dean doesn’t want to jinx it by saying anything, but he notices that Ben’s come home with Bs on two assignments in that time and that a girl from school called Beth (who is on the honour role and the debate team and plays piano – yes, he phoned her mother, so what?) has been calling. Ben hasn’t once broken curfew, has kept his mouthing off to a minimum and he’s even voluntarily done the dishes. Three times.

He also hasn’t seen or heard from anyone in uniform since that Saturday night.

Dean wants to think it’s the start of an upward swing, but he’s hesitant to get his hopes up.

***

Dean waits until Sam gets home from work on Thursday night before he shrugs on his jacket and grabs his keys.

“Goin’ out?” Sam asks, blinking a little at Dean’s haste.

“Yeah. Goin’ kind of crazy in here,” Dean admits. He hasn’t left the house except for work since Ben’s taken to hanging out there and he needs a change of scenery, desperately.

“Want some company?” Sam offers and reaches to grab his coat off the hook where he’d just hung it up.

“Nah,” Dean says. “Just need a breather. Take a drive, maybe. You stay here and…”

“Dean,” Sam sighs. “I know you don’t want to leave Ben on his own right now, because you don’t want to rock the boat or whatever, but you’ve got to give him some space. Constantly looking over his shoulder isn’t going to make anything better that isn’t getting better already.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not even that, really. I just need some time alone, you know?”

Sam just looks at him, but he lets go of his jacket and slips his shoes off.

“Sam. Come on. Everything is fine. I just need like, an hour.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “Hey, maybe try and get laid. Might lighten you up a little.”

“Please,” Dean scoffs, grinning at his brother. “That’d take longer than just an hour.”

“Somehow I doubt that. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you hook up bar bathrooms in less time than it takes me to order.”

Dean just grins wider, because Sam might be exaggerating, but he’s not really wrong.

“Anyway,” Sam says. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean drives.

He drives about three blocks until he realises where he is and he didn’t go down this street on purpose, he really didn’t but as he pulls up to a red light outside the police station he’s already wondering if Milton is inside. It’s not like he’s thinking about going in to say ‘hey’ or anything equally stupid, but despite the rocky first couple of meetings, there’s something about the guy that seems to have gotten under his skin.

Something about his ass, maybe. Or his fingers. Or lips.

Or… maybe Sam was right and he really needs to get laid.

A car horn sounds behind him and he snaps his eyes forward, sees the light has already turned green. He sighs and hits the gas, turns the corner and pulls into the parking lot of a coffee shop. He could use some caffeine. 

He gets out of his car and heads across the parking lot, but stops short and cracks a small smile when he sees two cops coming up the path toward the front door.

Milton is one of them. The other is probably his partner. He’s a little shorter than Milton, a little blonder and he smiles a little wider. They’re not looking in Dean’s direction so he takes a few seconds and watches them, the other guy’s arm slung over Miltons’s shoulder as they walk side by side. They stop in front of the door and exchange a few words before Milton’s partner throws his head back, laughing at some unheard joke and walks off. 

Dean follows Milton inside and watches him walk up to the counter to place his order. He doesn’t quite hear what he asks for but that doesn’t stop him from sidling up next to him, smiling at the server and saying “Make it two.” 

“Dean,” Milton says, short and slightly higher than normal as he turns around.

“Officer,” Dean greets in return, with a slight nod and a smile. He’s got his trench coat folded over his arm and Dean sort of wishes he’d put it on. It looks good on him. Very Columbo. “Let me get this. Least I could do.”

Milton opens his mouth but closes it again quickly when Dean reaches over him and hands the teenager a five dollar bill.

“You have time to sit?” Dean asks, once their drinks are passed over to them. “Or are you in a hurry?”

“No, I…” Milton starts, stops and clears his throat. “I have time. And I’m not currently on duty. There’s no need to call me ‘officer’. Castiel will do.”

“Good,” Dean smiles, raises an eyebrow, then gestures toward a table by the window. “After you, Castiel.” The name sounds a little weird on his tongue, but whatever. It suits the guy.

Dean takes the seat across from Castiel and at first it’s a little awkward. Dean fiddles with one of the sweetener packets in a bowl on the table and Castiel stares. Castiel comments on the weather and Dean mentions that the coffee is good today. Castiel agrees and says they have decent sandwiches, too. Dean tells him he likes ham and feels like kind of an idiot.

He’s usually _good_ at this.

Then Castiel asks how Ben is doing. Dean answers, says Ben’s doing fine but he’s out tonight to get a break from all that, so he’s a little stiff and short in his response.

Dean doesn’t want to talk about Ben tonight, doesn’t want to talk about Sam or Lisa or any of his problems. He wants to have a good time, wants good company and the view isn’t too shabby from this side of the table, so instead of family, Dean talks about everything else.

He tells Castiel about his garage and his friends and how he loves to go camping in the spring. Tells him he’s a baseball fan and he likes beer and burgers and he’s afraid of flying. Tells him how he’s got a wicked sweet tooth and how _Cool Hand Luke_ is his favourite movie and that anyone who doesn’t love Zeppelin needs a swift punch in the neck.

He asks Castiel about himself and ventures a little closer, inches his chair forward and leans in so that he’s angled towards him and his knuckles are resting just a few inches from Castiel’s on the table, listens to Castiel tell him about his sister and his brother and his partner on the force. About how he loves to cook and how he adopted a stray cat and how he got into police work in the first place because he wanted to help people, yes, but he’s also come to really dig the power it gives him.

It’s like a guilty secret, his eyes dart away for a split second and he doesn’t blush but it’s pretty damn cute all the same.

Dean learns that Castiel’s older brother, Gabriel, has been in and out of correctional facilities since he was fifteen, that their father left them not long before that and their mother was distant and uninvolved. Castiel believes that if Gabriel had been given some direction, some help and offered a second chance by the police officer that arrested him and the judge that sentenced him to juvenile detention for his first break and enter offence (a library – and nothing was stolen or damaged, save the lock he picked), things would have turned out differently.

It explains a lot about Castiel, actually, and why he is the way he is, why he does what he does. Maybe his sister, too. 

He’s in the middle of telling Dean all about how much he enjoyed majoring in English at college when Dean shifts his arm slightly and places two of his fingers on top of Castiel’s slightly curled fist. Castiel stiffens and stops himself mid-sentence, mouth still open on his next word as he looks down at their hands with a furrowed brow.

Dean clenches his teeth and takes his hand back right away, wraps it back around his empty cup and forces a smile, nodding for Castiel to continue. What the fuck? Things were going well, they were actually getting along for a change, they were talking and laughing and Dean was getting signals, he’s _sure_ he was getting signals. 

He’s sure Castiel watched a little too closely while Dean licked a stray drop of coffee off his bottom lip and he’s sure he leaned in a little too close when he handed Dean a stir stick and he’s _absolutely certain_ that Castiel swallowed thickly and his breathing sped up when Dean leaned over him, breath hot against his ear for just a second, in order to put down the donuts he’d bought them. 

And those things? Those things are fucking signals, those are unspoken ways of saying that he’s interested and physical contact is the natural next step. Dean knows this. Dean’s a fucking _expert_ at this, but it seems like Castiel has a different playbook or something because he doesn’t finally relax and start talking again until Dean pushes back in his chair, putting even more space between them.

He moves on to tell Dean about helping his sister paint her house – purple and aqua and yellow, because Anna likes bright colours – and then starts in on the time his partner, a man named _Balthazar_ (and he’d thought _Castiel_ was weird), took him to Vegas for the weekend and he spent the entire time reading a book and watching Balthazar get lap dances. 

Dean laughs and thinks that sounds a lot like him and Sam, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he launches into a story about how he wanted to be a firefighter when he was a kid and he doesn’t even notice when he starts to lean across the table again. He notices though, when Castiel starts to lean too, when his smile is soft and genuine and his head his slightly tilted in Dean’s direction when Dean gets to the part about how now he can’t imagine doing anything other than fixing up cars.

“It’s good that you love what you do,” Castiel says. “I don’t think I would be happy being anything other than an officer of the law. It feels… right.”

“It suits you,” Dean tells him. “And I love cars, I do, but there are times when I’m just happy to be doing anything that’s not in an office. I think I’d kill myself if I had to work in a cubicle.”

Castiel lets out a small chuckle at that. “I’m happy to be unconfined a lot of the time as well, though I’m less dramatic about it.”

Dean rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling.

“Yeah. Sammy though, he’s a lawyer. If he’s not in an office he’s in the library and if he’s not in the library he’s in court. Has to wear a suit all the damn time. I don’t know how he does it.”

And just like that, whatever warmth and invitation he’d seen in Castiel’s eyes abruptly disappears. He freezes, then pulls back, his eyes go blank and his posture is so stiff that Dean can’t possibly interpret it as anything other than sharp and sudden rejection.

“Something I said?” Dean asks, confused and cold and he tries not to sound bitchy but he sort of can’t help it. Castiel is sending some seriously mixed signals here and Dean hates teases. Really, it’s so much easier when people are clear about their intentions. Who needs all the extra bullshit?

“No,” Castiel answers, shakes his head once and pushes his long empty mug forward. “It’s late. I should get home.”

“It’s not even ten o’clock,” Dean counters. “We’ve hardly been here an hour.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re expected, somewhere,” Castiel says, his low voice almost a growl as he narrows his eyes slightly at Dean. Dean swallows, tugs at the collar of his t-shirt like it’s choking him. Yeah, cop was definitely the right career choice.

“Wait, Cas, I…” Dean starts and pushes up out of his chair, gesturing stupidly between Castiel and the table, like it’s somehow going to make him change his mind.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel says. “And good luck with your son.”

Dean watches him leave and wonders if he’s ever put up with this much trouble before on the outside chance at a roll in the hay. And he wonders, after tonight, if that’s really all he wants.

One night stands and casual sex have always been more than good enough for a long time, but things are different now. Now, suddenly, totally innocuous things – like liking the way someone scratches their neck or getting lost in an easy smile – those things hold so much more weight because they might really _mean_ something now. They’re _allowed_ to mean something now, because his happily ever after with Lisa isn’t an option. He might actually _like_ this guy and it sort of scares the fuck out of him.

He knows he’s probably in a bad place in his life right now for an inappropriate crush and he’s half tempted to give up completely, especially given how hard Castiel has been to get a read on, but something tells him he won’t. The guy is _bizarre_ but Dean doesn’t try to kid himself that he’s not interested. 

But men aren’t usually this much trouble. It’s one of the reasons he likes them.

Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe he’s losing his touch.

***

Ben invites Beth over for a date.

Dean and Sam clear out and give them full run of the living room so they can order a pizza and watch a couple movies and Dean pokes his head out every once in a while and watches from upstairs, just to make sure everyone is fully clothed.

When Beth’s dad shows up at midnight to pick her up, Dean spends five minutes asking the guy about his job and where he goes on vacation and his favourite pizza toppings, until he’s satisfied that he’s just as nice an innocuous as his wife and daughter. They’re good people, the Harpers, and Dean hopes that Ben and Beth will start to spend more time together.

She’s a good influence, clearly.

***

Jesse’s let loose on the world again on a Monday and Ben begs off dinner with Dean to go get pizza with him. The night ends without incident and Dean heaves a tremendous sigh of relief when Ben makes it home by ten without a police escort.

“Hey, dude, I was just about to watch _Batman_. Wanna pull up a seat?”

“It’s ten,” Ben says from the doorway. “On a school night.”

“Yeah, it is,” Dean agrees, smiles at the kid and ten minutes later they’re sitting next to each other on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn between them. It’s quiet, but it’s comfortable and when they run out of popcorn Dean gets up to make them more. He brings licorice, too.

“Thanks,” Ben says, when the movie has finished and the credits start to roll. “You can be kind of awesome, sometimes. When you’re not being a total drag.”

Dean doesn’t answer, just pats the kid on the back and watches him head upstairs to bed.

It’s been a good night, he figures. Things are looking up.

***

Saturday afternoon rolls around and Sam lays into Dean pretty hard when he realises that Dean has finished off the cereal, the orange juice and the bagels and that they’ve got nothing in the cupboards for lunch either, except for a can of Spaghetti-Os. Given that neither of them has even eaten Spaghetti-Os in over fifteen years, the freshness is suspect and they’re not willing to risk it.

“So go shopping, bitch,” Dean tells him, the words coming out sticky and muffled around a spoonful of peanut butter.

“Dean, you were supposed to stop by the grocery store on your way home yesterday.”

“You didn’t write a list,” Dean points out and washes down his peanut butter with the last swig of juice.

“You can’t just look in the fridge and figure out what we don’t have any more of? How did you even survive on your own before I moved in?”

“Fine,” Dean shrugs, tossing the spoon into the sink. “I’ll go.”

“Get more than just candy, Dean,” Sam calls out as Dean crosses the kitchen and through the living room, where Ben’s sitting on the couch watching television. Dean smirks and grabs his keys off the table.

“Sure. Hey Ben, wanna come to the grocery store?”

“Hell yeah,” Ben says, jumping up and shutting off his show. “We’re out of pie. And Cheetos.”

“Shit,” Dean hears Sam curse from behind him as he opens the door and motions Ben outside. He laughs then, throws his head back and cackles when Sam grabs his coat and follows them to the car.

***

Dean is rounding the corner at the end of the cereal aisle – Ben and Sam still about half way down arguing over whether to get the kind loaded with sugar or the heart-healthy, low cholesterol, flax and bran crap – when Dean nearly runs smack into the solid chest of the guy who’s standing in front of the olive oil.

“Shit, sorry man,” Dean says, taking a step back. “Wasn’t looking where I was goin’, I guess. I… Cas?”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas answers with a nod. Shit, he’s never once seen this man in all his years in Lawrence and suddenly he’s fucking _everywhere_. Maybe it’s a sign, or some shit.

“Hey. You look…” he pauses and lets his eyes drift up and down Castiel’s body, takes in the soft fit of his t-shirt and the way his faded jeans hang off his hips and hug his thighs. He’s never seen him out of uniform and he likes it. The skin around his neck is so damn temping where the pale green of his shirt exposes more skin than the tight collar of his police shirt and Dean has to stop himself from reaching out and touching it. “Uh, good. The whole casual thing really suits you.”

Castiel blushes faintly at that.

“Grocery shopping requires less formal dress than police work,” he says and when Dean smiles Cas smiles back.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean says, gesturing to his own clothing – a grease-stained t-shirt and a pair of jeans with more holes than material. Which, actually is what he wears to _his_ job, but the point is, Saturday morning shopping trips to Dillon’s aren’t exactly black tie.

“You look good, as well,” Castiel says and even though he says it like he might as well be mentioning the fact that it’s a nice day out, Dean knows he’s not imagining the way Castiel’s eyes linger a little too long over his legs.

“You should see me in a suit,” Dean says with his voice pitched low, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It’s my own personal nightmare, but I’ve been told I clean up good.”

“I’m sure,” Cas agrees and he looks towards the bottles on the shelf again. Dean smiles and angles himself so they’re standing side by side.

“Extra virgin,” he says after a moment.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what everybody says, right? Extra virgin. It’s supposed to be better, or healthier or something. I don’t know, man. I always buy whatever’s on sale.” Dean grabs a bottle off the shelf, even though he’s pretty sure they don’t need any. Castiel takes one as well, a different brand, the most expensive one and Dean snorts.

“Show off,” he teases. 

“This one is superior,” Cas says simply. “I see no sense in wasting money on sub-standard ingredients.”

Cas cooks, Dean remembers, so he’s not surprised this is the kind of thing that’s important to him. He feels the same way about car parts.

“Yeah, I get that. Maybe one day I’ll get you to show off your fancy cooking skills for me. Teach me a thing or two.”

Castiel clears his throat and takes half a step away and Dean’s smile fades.

“They offer classes,” Castiel tells him. “At the community centre. If you’re interested in improving your skill.”

Okay, Dean’s absolutely certain that he’s being more than obvious here, has been since day one so either Cas is just really fuckin’ slow (which he seriously doubts) or he’s being deliberately obtuse. Either way, Dean’s done with what tiny vestige of subtle he’s been playing at. He’s going to give this one more shot and then cut his losses.

“So listen, Cas,” he says, reaching out to rest his hand over Castiel’s elbow. “I’ve been sort of… flirting with you.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, meeting Dean’s eyes and when the silence drags on a little too long, Dean clears his throat and then frowns.

“Oh. Okay.” So, not an idiot then. Good to know. “So do you uh… do you maybe want to go out sometime? Dinner, movie…” Hot sex. “You know. Date stuff?”

Castiel tenses and he shoots a look over Dean’s shoulder. Dean follows it and can’t hide a smile when he sees that Ben won this round and there’s a jumbo sized box of Lucky Charms in the shopping cart.

“I hardly think that’s appropriate,” Cas says, sharp snap of his voice interrupting Dean’s internal celebration over the cereal. He sounds clipped and short and Dean feels like the temperature drops a few degrees when Cas is suddenly a good foot further away from him and still moving back.

“Uh…” Dean starts, thoroughly confused and he just stands there, blinking like a moron when Cas turns up the next aisle and disappears from view. Wow, he must take the whole not mixing business with pleasure thing pretty damn seriously. “Okay then,” he mumbles. “I’ll see you… later.”

Dean lets out a rough breath and coughs a little when he feels a hand slam into his back. Sam pushes the shopping cart in front of him and takes the bottle of olive oil out of Dean’s hand, puts it back on the shelf.

“Wow, Dean,” he says. “This is really getting sad.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles and snatches the cart from Sam, pushing it toward the frozen food. He needs some damn ice cream.

***

“Alright, what crawled up your ass?” Dean asks later that evening, nudging open Ben’s bedroom door after a few short raps and stepping inside. Ben’s all but ignored him today, ever since their epic argument over butterscotch ripple or strawberry swirl that ended with Sam tossing a carton of vanilla in the buggy and telling Dean to grow up. He’s barely eaten anything, turned down a trip to the movies and decided he’d rather spend the afternoon in his room than spend it helping Dean fix the dishwasher. Which, yeah. Dean would have skipped out on that, too, if he had the choice. “I thought we were besties again.”

“Whatever,” Ben snorts. “Can I go over to Lucas’ place tonight?”

“Seriously, Ben. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, okay?” Ben snaps. “God, you just can’t take a hint, can you?”

“What?” Shit, Dean really needs some kind of teenager-to-English dictionary, because sometimes Ben makes absolutely no sense at all. This morning they were golden.

“Maybe sometimes you just need to back off. Like when I say I’m fine. Like when guys obviously aren’t interested in being hit on, over and over.”

Dean hasn’t dated anyone since Ben’s been staying with him – he’s still not – but he figures he should have seen something like this coming. Plus, he can sort of relate.

He wasn’t exactly crazy about any of the women his father dated after his mom died.

“This is about Castiel.”

“Oh, it’s _Castiel_ now? Whatever. He obviously doesn’t like you. Just let it go, already.”

“Your overwhelming concern is duly noted,” Dean tells him. “Are you pissed that I’m interested in someone? Or that that someone is a dude?”

“I don’t care!” Ben almost shouts. “Because he doesn’t like you back, so it doesn’t matter.”

Dean takes a breath and sits down on the end of Ben’s bed.

“You’re right, I don’t think he does. But you know what? Eventually I’m gonna have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. We’re gonna have to deal with that.”

“So what, you’re queer now?”

Dean doesn't answer him, just raises an eyebrow and waits for Ben to sigh and roll his eyes. It's not something Dean ever kept hidden. When he was with Lisa he was incredibly committed to her, but he was just as willing to point out a great ass on the football field as he was to appreciate a killer rack on _Deal or no Deal_. 

“Ben, I’m not looking to get married or anything, not any time soon. I’m still trying to work things out, just like you are. But I’m going to want to spend time with other adults and I’m going to be attracted to some of them. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love your mom. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her still. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t care that you’re bi or whatever,” Ben says. “But shut up about Mom. You think she’d want you hanging all over people like that? Just… no means no, and he said it like five times. Stop being such a creepy stalker.”

Dean’s not really ready for this conversation and he sort of wishes he could put it on hold until he figures out exactly what he wants to say. Or forever.

“Well, like you said, Cas said no. So it’s not anything we need to worry about right now,” Dean tells him. “But this whole idea of me dating, it isn’t going to go away, you know that, right?” He waits a beat for Ben to let out an exaggerated sigh and nod. “Good. So if there’s ever anything that’s bothering you, _ever_ , about _anything_ you let me know and we’ll deal with it.”

“Sure,” Ben answers. He sounds bored, but Dean knows it’s forced. This is obviously something that’s eating at him and Dean hates that, wishes he could just wave a damn magic wand and make it all better.

“Good. Go,” he says, standing up and motioning to the bedroom door. “Go see Lucas. Be home by eleven.”

Ben doesn’t bother to ask twice and Dean spends the night alone watching _Walker, Texas Ranger_ reruns and hoping Sam’s date with Sarah is going well. At least one of them should be getting laid.

***

Ben fails an economics test three days later and Dean orders him straight to his room every day after school to study. He’s probably not actually doing any school work, Dean knows that, but as long as he’s stuck in the house he’s not likely to get arrested, either, so Dean figures it’s best to just wait it out.

Things were getting better for a while and if Dean gives Ben his space, backs off and lets him deal, he figures they’ll get better again.

It’s not like things can get worse, right?

***

“Maybe I could try talking to him?” Sam suggests one night after Ben’s in bed and Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table sorting out the bills.

“Huh?” Dean asks, puts the phone bill down on the top of the stack that he’ll bring to the bank and pay tomorrow. Sam keeps trying to get him into online banking but Dean doesn’t trust it.

“Ben. Maybe I should try talking to him. I don’t want to step on your toes or anything, but I sort of know what he’s going through. I grew up only ever knowing one parent and I was Ben’s age when dad died. Then I only had you. I mean, I can’t share stories and remember Lisa like you can, but it might help him to know that at least there’s someone who understands what it’s like to lose someone like that.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, just lets his shoulders slump as something in him unclenches because that sounds like a _damn_ good idea. He’d been thinking of asking Sam to do just that for a while now, but he’s putting enough shit off on his brother lately.

“Plus,” Sam adds with a smirk when he can see that Dean’s about to agree, “Maybe I can explain to him that you really aren’t as big a jerk as it seems, you’re just severely emotionally stunted.”

It’s a joke, that’s all, Dean knows that. It still hits a nerve, twists over in his gut and pulls tight.

“I did okay with you,” he says, only instead of confident and certain it comes out quiet. “Didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam answers, dimples fading a little as his eyes get bigger and his head kind of cocks to the side. “You really did. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, I know,” Dean tells him and he mostly does know that. He’s just being stupid, raw and vulnerable from the plethora of fuck-ups in recent history. “And yes. Yeah. If you want to talk to Ben I think… that’s not a bad idea.”

“Okay.”

“Just… don’t pressure him or anything. If he doesn’t want to…”

“Promise.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Hey Sam? Thanks.”

***

Dean finally meets Sarah on a Friday evening.

Sam invites her over for supper and Dean helps him cook meatloaf and mashed potatoes and spinach salad and he makes Ben wear clean clothes and watch his mouth and say please when he asks Dean to pass the salt. Because there’s a lady present.

She’s pretty much awesome, Sam wasn’t exaggerating about that. One of the coolest chicks he’s ever met and if Sam didn’t see her first he’d probably have been all over that. She’s gorgeous as fuck, tough as nails, smart, sassy and doesn’t take any shit. She’s a baseball fan, she can put back a beer in record time and she loves scary movies. The cheesier the better, which drives Sam crazy.

Dean tells Sam that he better marry this girl and of course Sam and Sarah laugh, but Dean’s not really joking.

Ben sneaks off to his room soon after dessert and Sam and Sarah curl up on the couch to watch some cheesy romantic comedy that’s about to start. Sam doesn’t even put a fight when Sarah suggests it, just smiles and puts his arm around her and passes her the remote while Dean snickers in the background. Poor bastard has got it, bad. Good for him.

Dean doesn’t want to cramp Sam’s style (also, rom-coms suck) so he tells them he’s got plans to hang out with Andy and leaves them to their canoodling.

He thinks about going to the Roadhouse, but he’s not really in the mood to run into anyone he knows so instead he drives the extra seven blocks and goes to a dive called _Neal’s_ on the other side of downtown. He’s only been there once, with Sam a couple of years ago, but he remembers they had pretty good chicken wings.

He grabs a seat at the bar and starts with a beer. The bartender is friendly. Cute, blonde and curvy and she smiles at Dean, flirts and tells him her name is Mia and that she’s off in an hour. Dean gives her an appreciative, obvious once over and he’s about to tell her he’ll meet her outside but then something catches his eye, a blur of tan in a room filled with blacks and blues, denim and leather and he turns his head for a better look.

Of course, it’s Castiel Milton. He’s out of uniform again, Dean can see the jeans sticking out from under that coat of his and he’s not alone. He’s with the same guy as before, his partner, probably. Balthazar. 

Dean’s been staring for a few seconds, mouth still half open to answer Mia and he decides that he should probably be getting back to that, before she starts to think he’s a little slow and changes her mind. But then Cas looks up, casually at first and when he sees Dean he freezes and his eyes linger for just a second, before Balthazar says something to regain his attention and they sit down at a table along the far wall.

And fuck. No way in hell can he go home with Mia or anyone else tonight, not when suddenly all he can think about is how soft Castiel’s hair would be under his fingers and what his lips would feel like against Dean’s skin.

It only just then crosses Dean’s mind that of all the bars in town, all the places he could have gone to have a drink and clear his head, he’d chosen the place three blocks down from the police station.

Shit, maybe Ben was right. Maybe he _is_ a creepy stalker.

Anyway, Cas has seen him so it’s not like he can just take off without at least saying ‘hi’. At least, he thinks they’re at the level of social acquaintance where you can’t just pretend you didn’t see each other and run away without coming off kind of douchey.

“Friend of yours?” Mia asks him, nodding toward the table.

“Something like that,” Dean answers and figures he might as well bite the bullet, head over and talk to the guy for a minute before he goes home and jerks off thinking about him. He tilts his bottle back and finishes off his drink before asking for another.

“Make that three, please, beautiful,” says someone from behind him in a smooth, clipped accent. “And three shots of Jack.”

Mia smirks and gets to work on the drinks as Dean swivels around to come face to face with thin, pursed lips and suspiciously amused eyes.

“Balthazar Jones,” the man says, smiling out of only one half of his mouth as he holds out a hand for Dean to shake.

Dean does, only a little hesitantly, but doesn’t smile back. He’s not sure why. Balthazar doesn’t seem like an asshole so far, but the flirting with Mia and the cocked eyebrow and the hair gel and the deep V neck t-shirt _do_ give him a distinctly sleazy vibe. 

“Dean,” Dean introduces himself, holding onto Balthazar’s hand just a little too long, half a beat after Balthazar lets go. Balthazar just smiles more genuinely at him, like he gets a kick out of Dean’s bravado.

“Winchester, yes I know. I’ve heard a lot about you from your Hellspawn. And from my partner.”

“Is that so?” Dean asks, not quite sure what to say to that. He’s not in the mood for another lecture from an authority figure about how much he sucks at being a dad.

“Thank you, darling,” Balthazar says to Mia when she lines up the six drinks on the bar in front of them and he hands her enough money to cover them all. Then he grabs the shots and looks from Dean to the three bottles of beer. 

“Please,” he says, “join us.”

Dean hesitates, looks from the beer to the table where Castiel is seated, then back to Balthazar. “You know, I was really just headed out, I think, so…”

“Nonsense. Have a drink. Two drinks. And then…” He trails off and his eyes get this wickedly playful quality that unnerves Dean a little more. “He likes you. And you may not be his happily ever after, but between you and me, Cassie could use a torrid night of passion, without any strings.”

“Uh, that’s… Nice?” Dean frowns, but grabs the bottles up anyway and follows Balthazar across the room. And not because Castiel’s friend is practically pimping him out, not because Dean’s going to actually make a move because he was given the green light by some random dude in tight jeans.

Nice ass, Dean can’t help but notice as he walks behind him.

“It could be,” Balthazar agrees and sits down across from Castiel with a smile, tugging an empty chair from a nearby table and gesturing for Dean to sit between them.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel greets him, accepting the bottle of beer than Dean passes him. “Thank you. I know that Balthazar can be, uh, _pushy_ on occasion, but please don’t let him force you to stay. We wouldn’t be offended if you needed to leave.”

“Now, Cassie,” Balthazar scolds, pouting exaggeratedly and sliding both him and Dean a shot across the table. “Don’t be rude. I’m sure Dean was looking forward to catching up.”

“Look, I didn’t invite myself over here,” Dean says. “I can go, if I’m cramping your style.”

“My apologies,” Cas tells him with lowered eyes and slight shake of his head. “I didn’t mean… Of course. Stay for a drink. How is everything at home?”

And yeah, that’s not really somewhere Dean wants to go just now so instead he downs his shot and follows it quickly with half his beer. Castiel smiles and Balthazar laughs and they both follow suit and Dean waves Mia over for another round.

Balthazar turns out to be a pretty cool guy, after a few beers and it’s not long before the three of them are deep into laughter and easy, drunken conversation. They talk about baseball and the health care system and the unseasonably warm weather and how much Castiel hates to give speeding tickets and how much Balthazar particularly enjoys arresting prostitutes. 

They order round after round and Dean doesn’t do it on purpose, he really doesn’t, but his chair moves just a little closer to Castiel with each drink, drawn in by the tempting bow of his lips and the way his eyes light up when he gets excited over a song on the jukebox. At some point in the evening, Balthazar excuses himself, wanders back to the bar in hopes of convincing Mia to go home with him and Castiel’s face is flushed from the booze and he’s smiling so wide at one of Dean’s lame jokes that he’s almost got fucking _dimples_ for Christ’s sake and he’s leaning in a little closer to Dean and Dean can’t really take it anymore.

Cas is fucking _hot_ , okay? And Dean’s more than a little tipsy and it’s been a while and the guy is _right there_ and this right here? This is those signals, back again. With friends. So, Dean leans across the table to cover the extra few inches that are still separating them and presses his mouth to Castiel’s.

It’s only a small kiss, a soft pucker followed by the barest swipe of Dean’s tongue across Castiel’s lower lip and Castiel doesn’t even pretend to kiss back. He doesn’t pull away though, doesn’t punch Dean in the face or stomp off in a huff, so Dean thinks there might be a chance here. Except of course, Castiel stiffens up, seems to sober abruptly and levels Dean with a hard expression, makes him fight not to squirm under the weight of it.

That shit must come in damn handy. If Dean ever manages to get Cas to say yes to a date, he’s in serious trouble because all Cas has to do is look at him like _that_ and Dean’s never going to win an argument again. Ever.

“Where’s Sam tonight?” Castiel asks and Dean needs a few seconds to process that question because _what the fuck_? Seriously, who gives a shit where Sam is tonight and Sam is kind of the last person Dean wants to be thinking of when his lips are still a little tingly and his cock is half hard.

“Uh…” Dean says stupidly, blinking a few times as he tries to remember. “Date, I think.”

“He’s on a date?” Castiel asks and Dean just stares at him and nods. “And you’re here with me.”

“Yeah, I am,” Dean says and wow, this guy does not get any less weird. “Hey Cas?” he asks, leaning in close again and placing his palm flat on top of Castiel’s thigh. He tilts his head down and in so that his mouth his hovering over Castiel’s, lets them breathe each other in and out two times, three and closes his eyes as a shiver runs down his spine. “Take me home.”

Castiel sucks in a breath, steals it straight from Dean’s mouth, they’re so close together.

“Something tells me I’m going to regret this,” he says, “but yes, Dean. So help me, yes.”

Castiel moves forward to press them together in one more kiss, hard this time, needy rough. Dean’s lips feel bruised, used when Cas pulls back and he stands then, grabs Dean’s hand and leads them outside to hail a taxi. Dean sends Sam a quick text message telling him not to wait up while Cas gives the cabbie his address and they really can’t get there soon enough.

***

It’s still dark out when he wakes up the next morning, Castiel sleeping soundly next to him with the blankets scrunched around his waist and his arms wrapped around a pillow. There’s a glass of water on the table next to the bed. Dean takes a thankful swallow, cool liquid soothing his rough throat before he sits up and rubs his eyes.

Fuck. His head is killing him this morning but Jesus Christ was last night worth it. He wants to stay for a while, maybe make some pancakes and then have some more sex. Or sex first, pancakes after. He’s flexible. It sounds like a perfect fucking Saturday morning, the kind he hasn’t had in far too long, but he knows he should really get home before Ben wakes up.

Dean climbs out of bed, careful not to wake Castiel and he slips into the clothes that Cas threw on the floor the night before. Mmmm, good times, he thinks, smiling to himself. He’d whistle if he wasn’t trying to keep quiet – Song of the South, maybe – that’s how good it was.

Once he’s dressed he takes a minute to look at the sleeping man, takes in the pale skin of his bare back, the way his frame tapers in at narrow hips. He doesn’t have to imagine what that feels like anymore. Now he knows and he can’t stop his smile at remembering.

He absently brings two fingers to his own lips, kisses them quickly and then slowly, much more slowly, he presses those same fingers the small of Castiel’s back, lets them linger for several long seconds before he makes his way out of the bedroom.

He stops by the kitchen on his way out and looks through the drawer next to the fridge for a notepad, writes his number down, puts the pad on the counter where Cas will see it and then leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He walks back to _Neal’s_ (which is a lot closer than it seemed last night) to get his car and when he gets there it’s just after six o’clock. He’s quiet when he opens the front door, but he doesn’t need to be. Ben’s already awake and sitting in the living room, waiting for him.

“Have a good time?” Ben asks, not bothering to look up, just raising the remote to change the channel on the television from infomercials to MTV.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dean tells him, hanging his coat up on the wall by the door. “You uh… been up long?”

“Were you out with the cop?” Ben asks, instead of answering. “Or was it someone else? Did you screw around this much when you were with Mom?”

“You don’t bring your mom into this,” Dean growls, jabbing a finger in Ben’s direction. The notion of him cheating on Lisa is so ridiculously insulting that he can’t bring himself to answer. “This has nothing to do with her. Look, I know I shouldn’t have stayed out like that, especially not without talking to you first, but I’m a grown man, Ben. And if I like someone and want to spend time with them, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Probably. Honestly though, he _is_ feeling a little guilty about how happy the thought of seeing Cas again makes him, but the point is, he doesn’t need Ben piling it on and making it worse. Lisa’s gone. Ben and Dean are still here. Moving on is what they’re supposed to do. And like Dean said, he’s a grown up. He should be able to go out and get laid once in a while without having to answer for it afterwards, for fuck’s sake.

“So are you gonna keep screwing him, or was it just a one-time thing to get your rocks off?”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Dean snaps. The truth is, he’s not sure. Bad first impressions aside, Cas is gorgeous and kind and funny and he’s also a wildcat in the sack, so yeah. Dean would absolutely like to see him again, but they hadn’t really had the chance to discuss plans for the future in between all the grunting and gasping.

“We can talk about this if you want to, but only if you show a little respect. If not for me, at least for Cas. And I don’t know if I’m going out with him again or not. I’d like to, but I’d sort of like for you to be okay with it.”

“Whatever,” Ben says, stands up rolls his eyes towards the stairs. “Do what you want. I’m going back to bed.”

“Ben…” Shit, it’s not like he expected cheers and high fives, but this isn’t how he wanted this to go.

“Seriously, I’m tired,” he tells Dean while his feet drag over the carpet. Five seconds later Dean hears his bedroom door click shut.

“Shit,” Dean sighs and plops down on the couch. He switches the television over to SportsNet and listens to a recap of last night’s hockey games until Sam wanders out of the kitchen and sits down next to him.

“You and Cas?” Sam asks, all soft and sweet and non-judgmental, like he’s going to get Dean to talk about it just by listening.

“Maybe,” Dean shrugs. “I mean, yeah, obviously, last night, but…” He trails off and shrugs again.

“You like him.”

“Where’s Sarah? She stay the night?”

“Nah,” Sam shakes his head. “We didn’t think… you know, with Ben here and she barely knows you guys. Didn’t want it to get awkward. She left after the movie last night.”

Dean just nods, because yeah, that was probably a good call. At least somebody was thinking straight last night.

It’s a few more minutes and sneak peek at the top draft picks for the upcoming baseball season later before Sam speaks again, just as soft as before.

“You were right, you know,” he tells Dean. “What you said to Ben. You’re allowed to have something that makes you happy. If that’s Castiel, then you shouldn’t feel bad about it. Just make sure you don’t start anything you’re unsure about, or not ready for. It’s not just you that might get hurt if it goes badly.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it. You haven’t had anyone in your life like that for almost a year. It really is okay to move on.”

“Is it okay to have breakfast?” Dean asks, smiling slightly in a desperate effort to change the subject. “Because I’m fucking starving.”

“Pancakes?” Sam asks.

“Hell yes,” Dean says and leads the way into the kitchen.

***

A few days go by. Then a few more and everything has been quiet at home, relatively peaceful and Cas hasn’t called him yet.

Which is fine, really it is, because it’s only Thursday and Dean’s not _needy_ or anything, but he’s getting the distinct impression he’s being blown off. He’s no stranger to one night stands, doesn’t usually care if someone calls or not, but he’d kind of stupidly thought him and Cas had something a little more than that.

And he’s not ready to start picking out China patterns, but a phone call and a coffee wouldn’t suck. Ben hasn’t mentioned anything else about his night out and neither has Dean. He’s starting to think he probably won’t have to.

***

Of course, the very next night after Dean’s written Cas off as a pleasant memory, he shows up again.

There’s no knock at the door this time, just the slam of it hitting the inside wall of the hallway and Ben stomping his way upstairs before Castiel’s voice sounds from the open front door.

“Hello?” he calls out and Dean swears under his breath as he drops a pan in the sink and wipes his hands off on a dishtowel.

“Cas,” he greets with a slight grimace. He’d hoped Ben was over this shit and now that him and Cas are… fucking, or whatever it is they’re doing, things could get complicated. “Hey. Uh, what’s he in for this time?”

“Harassment and vandalism,” Castiel says, short and matter of fact.

“He… what?” Dean asks, because Ben’s been acting out again the past few days, sure. But _harassment_? That just doesn’t sound like him. “Who was he harassing?”

“Me,” Castiel answers.

“I’m sorry… _you_? What did he do?”

“He started by throwing a rock at my car. It broke one of the taillights. Balthazar wanted to take him into the station, fingerprint him. I suspect it was only intended as a scare tactic and Ben seemed very contrite as soon as he mentioned it. Ben will owe us for repairs, but we won’t press charges.”

“Wait…” Dean says, needs Cas to slow down here because his head feels like it’s spinning. Ben busted up Cas’ _car_? And that’s only where he started? “ _Started_? What the hell else did he do?”

“After I got out of the car to speak with him, he… became verbally abusive. He was unnecessarily loud and resorted to slurs and profanity.”

“He…” Wow. It’s possible Dean has seriously underestimated how much of a problem Ben might have had with him dating Cas. And this has to stop, he knows that. This is the fucking end because it’s not getting better, it’s getting worse and Dean’s not willing to let Ben spiral like that. Not anymore. Ben’s gonna get his act together whether he likes it or not. It’s fucking _done_. “What did he say to you?”

Castiel hesitates a moment, looks straight into Dean’s eyes before he finally says, “Nothing I probably wouldn’t have said, in his place. Which is why I gave him this one final pass. His next infringement, I’ll have to start an official record. Continuing to look the other way, while perhaps easier, is obviously not doing him any favours.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, rubs his hand over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. Shit, he almost can’t even breathe here. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. You’re right. This isn’t… it’s not him, man. I know you don’t know him, but… He’s a good kid. I don’t know how it got this bad.”

“Most people never do.”

“Right,” Dean agrees and tries not to let it bother him that Castiel is lumping him in with ‘most people’. “Anyway, thanks. Again. Fuck. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Castiel smiles a little at that, his mouth gets a little soft at the corners and his eyes crinkle at the sides. “I know. I believe that you’re a good father, Dean. That you’re doing the best you can, under the circumstances. Some tasks require a steep learning curve, but initial problems don’t always equal failure.”

“Harsh,” Dean says, cocks his brow a little and leans against the doorframe, closes his arms over his chest. “But point.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Cas tells him. “Truly. But I’m… glad. That you’re willing to work. Results require effort.”

“I’m on it. Hey, and Cas?”

The nickname gets his attention as Castiel stands rigid and he meets Dean’s eyes.

“This might not be the best time to bring it up, but... About the other night. I don’t know if…”

“The other night,” Cas interrupts with sharp, cool words, and Dean frowns and closes his mouth. “What we did, it was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Wait, what?” Dean asks, because sure, he saw this as a possibility, but he’d maybe expected to be let down a little easier.

“We were under the influence and weren’t thinking clearly. It should not have happened. And I would appreciate it if you – and your son – would keep your distance.”

“If that’s what you want, then okay. I’m not gonna force you to go out with me. But I thought we kind of hit it off. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but I don’t think my radar is that far off.”

“You might want to first check with your lover about who else you _hit it off_ with,” Cas snarls and Dean blinks and jerks back.

“Huh?” he asks, because seriously, _huh_?

“I’m not sure what sort of arrangement you and Sam have, nor do I care. What happened between us was a mistake. I was intoxicated and acted with extremely poor judgement. I assure you, it will not happen again.”

Dean has a feeling a light breeze might knock him on his ass at this point and he wonders if maybe he woke up in bizarro world this morning.

“Wait, my _what_? My _lover_? Cas, I don’t…” He thinks he knows where Cas might have gotten that idea and while it’s more than a little ridiculous, it does explain a few things. 

“Good evening, Dean,” Castiel says, nods his head in farewell and slips Dean his card. “I’ll contact you with the repair costs for my car. I wish you all the best.”

“Wait,” Dean says again, quietly this time, barely a whisper and still stuck on ‘lover’ and ‘Sam’. It vaguely runs through his mind that he’ll put Ben to work at the shop after school until he’s got enough money to pay Cas back, but mostly he just wants to tell Cas that it’s not what he thinks. But it’s too late.

He only has time to blink two, three times before Cas is back in his squad car and pulling out of the driveway.

He snaps his mouth shut and closes the door on the one remaining taillight and his head is already starting to pound as he heads upstairs.

Ben is on his bed with his earphones on and his face is buried in a comic book when Dean knocks shortly before pushing the already ajar door open enough for him to slip into Ben’s room. He crosses the floor and uses one finger to wrap around the cord and pluck one of the buds from Bean’s ear, waits for Ben to sigh and take the other one out.

“I don’t even know where to start, this time,” Dean says, once Ben has put his iPod and comic down. Ben just stares at him, arms folded across his chest and legs crossed. It doesn’t look like Ben has any bright ideas, so Dean continues.

“Well, okay. How ‘bout you start by telling me why Cas thinks I’m screwing my _brother_? Then we can get into how fucking stupid dangerous it is to throw goddamn _rocks_ at people. What the hell, Ben?!”

Ben shrugs and cowers in on himself a little while his eyes stay focussed on the dark blue spot in the centre of his bedspread. His fingers dance over the skin of his biceps just below his t-shirt cuff and his toes curl up in his socks.

“I might have called Sam my ‘new dad’,” Ben admits, still not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Okay. But that doesn’t mean…”

“I might have also mentioned how loud you guys are. You know, at night. In your room.”

“Jesus, Ben,” Dean says, slamming his eyes shut against that mental picture. “Brain-stabbing imagery aside, what the hell for?”

“Because I don’t want you dating him!” Ben says. “Mom just died, like a few months ago! And I came here to you and… and you’re not her.”

“Ben…” Dean says softly, sits down at the foot of the bed and reaches one hand out towards Ben uncertainly, before he pulls it back and places it in his lap.

“No, don’t,” Ben cuts him off. “I get it, okay. You’re not supposed to be her, because she was my mom and nobody else can ever be that, not ever. Not you and not Sam and not Cas or Sarah, or anybody that you guys can convince to stick around. I get it and I’m not looking for a replacement, I’m not. But I came here, I came to be with you because I know you missed her and I know you and me belong together, no matter what.

“I know it’s hard and I know it sucks and I hate you sometimes, Dean. I really do. But you’re family and I love you and… and you’re supposed to curl up in a ball and love Mom forever and not be with anyone else. It’s her…” Ben breaks off, sucks in a breath and lets it out in a long, slow stream. “It’s her birthday, next week.”

“Shit, Ben,” Dean breathes out and inches closer, reaches his arms out and wraps them around Ben’s shoulders. Ben goes willingly when he coaxes, until Ben’s at the edge of the bed too, Dean’s arms pulling him close with his face tucked into Dean’s chest. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I promise you that I do miss her and I never, not for one second, stopped loving her.

“I hate that she’s gone. I hate it so much that I can’t breathe sometimes and I know that as hard as it is for me, it’s worse for you. I know you’re kind of lost right now, missing your old life and it must be hard to be… be here, with me like this.”

“Being with you is the only good thing about all this fucking bullshit,” Ben says, sniffles and wipes his nose on Dean’s shirt.

“Don’t say _fuck_ ,” Dean admonishes with a soggy grin. He’s miserable, Ben is miserable, but it seems like they’re finally miserable together and that’s at least a step. “And I know, Ben. I’m glad I got you out of this deal. But I’d take your mom back in a second, if I could. She should be here. She should be with you.”

“She loved you, you know,” Ben tells him, arms wrapping around Dean’s ribs and squeezing so hard it’s almost uncomfortable. Dean doesn’t even think of telling him to stop.

“Yeah, I know.”

“No, I mean… Even after you left. She was dating some doctor, but she never smiled with him like she did with you. She never got over you.”

“She would have,” Dean says, nodding and holding Ben tighter. It hurts to admit, but it’s the truth. As much as Lisa loved Dean, she didn’t really want him, not like that. “Given time.”

“You shouldn’t have let her.”

“Ben…”

“Yeah, I know,” Ben sighs. “I just keep thinking… What if we did something different? What if you were still with us and you were driving that night? What if you were going fast enough or what if you swerved in time? What if I told her I wanted her to stay home, that I didn’t want her going out with Matt again? What if…”

“Ben,” Dean says, fingers tightening slightly around Ben’s arms. “You can’t do that, okay? You can’t blame yourself, you can’t blame anyone or anything but that damn patch of black ice. As much as I wish there was some secret, something we could have changed, there’s just not. Your mom died. She’s gone and it sucks but we’re still here and we still have each other. And we’ve got to deal with it. And I fucking love you, kid. More than anything.”

“Don’t say _fuck_ ,” Ben chokes out, swallowing back a heavy sob and Dean shares a watery laugh with him before he closes his eyes and presses his mouth to the top of Ben’s head.

“Sorry, buddy,” he says and they’re both quiet for more than a minute, steadying their breath and forcing their bodies to relax. “But your mom and I, we weren’t together. She left me almost a year ago. I’ve dated since then, Ben. So… so has she. So if I start dating again, it has nothing to do with her. I’m not trying to replace her. I couldn’t. And nobody could ever replace you either, so don’t you dare think you’d ever come in second best.”

“Really?”

“Ben, you… you gotta know. You and Sammy, you’re the most important people in the world to me. You always will be. And I know I’ve messed this up in a pretty spectacular way, but I want to do better. Okay? I’m gonna give you more, I’m gonna try harder, but I need you to give a little, too. Think you can do that?”

“Do what, exactly?”

“I want you to…” Dean starts and then pauses, shakes his head and starts over. “No, I want _us_ to talk to someone. Someone who might be able to help us work through everything that hurts. A professional.”

“You mean like a shrink?” Ben asks dubiously and Dean almost laughs, it sounds so much like himself.

“I mean like a psychiatrist, yeah. We could go together. Or you can go by yourself, if you want to talk about things you don’t want me to hear, that’s fine. But I think… I think I should probably talk to someone, too. Obviously I’m not handling things so well. So, what do you say?”

It’s a few long, horribly silent moments before Ben finally pulls back from Dean’s hold, wipes his hand over his face and looks up at Dean. “I think I could probably do that, yeah.” 

“Thank you,” Dean whispers and cups the back of Ben’s neck in his hand, pulls him close again for one more crushing hug that Ben eagerly reciprocates. “It’s gonna be okay, Ben. I promise, we’re gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” Ben says and after a few last awkward pats to Ben’s back, Dean stands up and makes his way to the bedroom door. He’s starting to feel kind of weird and he doesn’t have anything left to say that won’t come off as pushy and overbearing, but they’ll have plenty of time to work things out. Dean’s pretty sure they’re finally on the road to recovery, even if it is a long road.

“Hey Dean?” Ben stops him as he steps out into the hallway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry. About making that stuff up, about you and Sam. And for the stuff I said to Castiel. Did I… Did I completely mess things up for you?”

Dean smiles at that.

“Thanks. And yeah, honestly. A little. But I think for now, it’s probably best if I don’t start any kind of serious dating. You’re not ready and that’s okay. Hell, I don’t even know if _I’m_ ready.”

“But… you like him.”

“Yeah.”

“He makes you happy. I saw the look on your face when you came in that morning. You haven’t looked like that since… since Mom.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Yeah, I like him. But there’s still a whole lot of shit we’ve got wade through and you come first, Ben. Right now, I’ve got bigger problems to worry about than getting me laid.”

“I know,” Ben tells him again and Dean’s smile turns a little more genuine. “And I want to say good, don’t ever date. Not him or anyone else, but. I don’t want you to be miserable because of me, either.”

“Hey. I could never be miserable because of you, you got that? _Never_.”

“Yeah,” Ben says. “Yeah, okay.”

“Oh, also,” Dean says, suddenly remembering half the point of this conversation. “You’ll work at the shop every day after school until you’ve got enough money to pay Cas back for that taillight you busted up.”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry, Dean. I know that was too far, but I… Sorry.”

“And you’ll apologise, to him. And his partner. When you pay them back, you’ll tell them how wrong it was and that you’ll never do it again and that you’ve learned a very valuable lesson about responsibility and… paying your debts. Whatever. You’ll think of something good.”

“I really am sorry.”

“Hey, what did you say to them, anyway? Cas said something about harassment?”

“You… probably don’t want to know.”

“I probably don’t. Tell me anyway.”

“I called him a slut.”

“You what?”

“And a home wrecker.”

“ _What_?”

“Well, you were cheating on Sam with him!” Ben says and he can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out. Dean can’t help but smile, too. It’s just so completely insane that it’s a little bit funny.

“I don’t care if I come home with a hooker wearing nothing but a thong,” Dean says, trying his best to scowl. “You smarten the hell up and use manners. Got it?”

“Yeah. We really are gonna be okay, aren’t we?” Ben asks and he sounds so earnest that Dean would tell him absolutely anything he wanted to hear, even if it wasn’t the truth.

“Yeah, Ben,” he says, a little gruff and sort of sloppy before he goes back downstairs where there’s a cold bottle of beer waiting for him in the fridge. “’Course we are.”

***

They’ve been to see Dr. Milton, Anna, twice in the past couple of months. She’s a nice lady, smokin’ hot, Dean thinks, even though she makes him talk about his feelings and forces him to admit to uncomfortable truths. It’s not something he’d ever have even considered doing before, not for himself. Only for Ben.

They don’t go to her for ongoing therapy, she says that coming to see her on a regular basis won’t be all that beneficial for them, but she does help them open some lines of communication, helps them learn to listen and say what they actually feel and reminds them they don’t have to be afraid, not of each other.

She helps Dean to understand that a lot of what Ben’s doing when he acts out the way he does is testing his limits, yes, but not in a way that Dean thought. The kid’s got abandonment issues coming out of his ass, which shouldn’t really be any kind of revelation, but Dean just hadn’t thought of it before. He lost Dean to distance and shortly after, his mother to death and he’s been keeping himself closed off, pushing to see what it’ll take for Dean to leave him again.

She helps Dean to find ways of showing Ben that that’s _never_ going to happen.

She helps Ben find more healthy ways of expressing his fears and his needs.

She gives them some pointers, tells them to make up a list of rules they both have to live by and tells them they should set aside a little bit of time every day just for them, just to be together and talk. It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, though that’s more than okay, but it has to be actual two-sided conversation, with questions and answers and sharing. Something they haven’t done in a while.

Things are slowly starting to get back to normal between them, back to what they were when they lived together in Cicero and Ben hasn’t been arrested lately. He’s still getting the occasional detention, though and staying out too late and twice Dean catches him with the smell of smoke on his clothes. But his grades get better and he’s seeing more of Beth and he’s thinking about joining the baseball team next year, starts playing on the local park team when spring rolls around and he’s doing great work at the garage, so Dean’s optimistic.

***

Sam and Sarah are getting increasingly serious and Dean thinks that it won’t be long before Sam moves out again, now that Ben is starting to adjust. He’s even seen Sam checking out the engagement ring display in the jewellery store window at the mall. 

Dean’s heart clenches a little when he sees the two of them together, looking at ‘for sale’ signs on houses when they walk through the neighbourhood, but it’s not the idea of Sam getting his happily ever after with his true love that makes it happen. 

For as long as Dean can remember, he’s imagined that for himself. He had it for a while and he can beat himself up all he likes, wonder if it was because he left his dirty socks everywhere or he stayed out too late with the guys on Saturday nights or if it was because he was a giant pussy and didn’t ask Lisa to marry him in time.

Whatever the reason, he lost it, that wonderful life and now he’ll never have it with Lisa; he’d gotten used to that a while ago but he’s been alone long enough. He’s not ready for ‘I do’ and white picket fences but he’s getting to the point where he wouldn’t mind having someone to kiss goodnight, have that same person there in the morning.

And since their one night together, he’s never really stopped thinking about Cas. About how he smiled under Dean’s lips as Dean pressed kisses to his mouth and ground him into his bed, about how he clawed at Dean’s back and gasped into Dean’s ear, wrapped his legs around Dean’s hips and whispered ‘please’.

About how he’s strong and generous and doesn’t take Dean’s shit and… and thinks that Dean’s in big gay love with his fucking _brother_. Jesus. He wants to talk to him again, to clear the air and set things straight, if nothing else, but he’s not so practiced in denial that he won’t admit what he’s really hoping for is a second chance.

He’s ready. He’s sure of that now and he believes Ben when he says he’s ready, too.

***

Dean shows up at Castiel’s apartment unannounced on a Saturday afternoon and he’s relieved when Castiel answers his knock almost right away. He has no idea what the guy’s work schedule is like, or his social schedule for that matter, but when the door opens he’s wearing a loose cotton t-shirt, white this time and it makes the skin of his arms and neck look warm and tanned. His jeans are a size too large and they’re threadbare at the knees and he’s barefoot.

Which, while it makes him look hot as fucking hell, is also a good sign that he’s got no immediate plans.

“Sam’s my brother,” he blurts out, before Cas even has the chance to say anything at all. “I know Ben told you we were together, but we’re not. I would never do that, what I did with you, if I was with someone, man. Shit, you must have thought I was a _dick_. 

"And I dated Ben’s mom for a long time. Her name was Lisa and I loved her and we split before she was killed. Ben’s not even my blood, Lisa had him with some guy who disappeared before he was even born but I love him like he is. Sam moved in to help out when Ben came to stay with me six months ago and he’s got a girlfriend, an awesome chick named Sarah. I know I’m not exactly a prize right now with all my baggage and I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Lisa, but I didn’t mean for that night to be cheap, or empty or whatever. I’m sorry if you thought that.”

“I’m… glad Sam’s not your lover,” Castiel says after a moment of stunned silence, because that’s probably a solid place to start.

“You and me both, pal,” Dean snickers. “Can I uh… come in?”

“Please,” Cas says and gestures for Dean to step inside, closing the door behind him. Cas leads him through the hallway and into the kitchen and his apartment is actually messy as hell, which Dean finds incredibly amusing. There are newspapers and empty pizza boxes all over the living room and Cas has to reach to the very back of his cupboard to find two clean mugs.

They don’t match but Dean doesn’t care and he sits down at the kitchen table while Cas pours them coffee from the pot on the counter. 

“It’s been more than two months,” Castiel points out, pushing the sugar in Dean’s direction but Dean shakes his head. He likes his coffee black, but hopefully there will be plenty of time for Cas to learn stuff like that. “I take it everything is going well, with Ben? I haven’t seen him lately.”

“Yeah, he’s… _we’re_ doing better. I think. We went to see your sister.”

Castiel smiles at that and spoons some sugar into his own drink. “I told you she was good at her job. I’m glad it’s working out.”

“Ben’s almost got enough money saved up to pay you back for your taillight. Another week or two, maybe. He’ll call you.”

“Good,” Cas says and they lapse into an almost comfortable silence that lasts long enough for them both to finish their drinks and for Dean to get up and pour them new ones. “Dean, what are you doing here?”

“Yeah, here’s the thing,” Dean says, taking a deep breath before he looks over at Cas with a tentative smile. Just because he wants another shot at whatever they might have had, doesn’t mean Cas does, so he’s kind of flying blind here. For all he knows, Cas might have only slept with him that time _because_ he figured there was no future in it. “I’ve got enough drama in my life right now so I’m just gonna be honest.”

“I usually find that’s the best way to avoid misunderstanding,” Cas agrees, one corner of his mouth turning up in a half-grin.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs, and he wishes Castiel’s gentle teasing made this easier. “Anyway, I like you. I mean, obviously I’m attracted to you, but more than that, I think I actually really _like_ you.”

“I’m fairly certain the feeling is mutual,” Castiel tells him after a beat, which okay. _That_ really does help, a little. Gives him a level of comfort to work with.

“Right. But… but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get involved in anything serious for a little while. I mean, I needed to see you, to clear the air, explain my situation so you didn’t think… Anyway. The way things are, I just really need to put Ben first for right now. Make sure he keeps being okay, him _and_ me, you know?”

“I do. I understand, Dean. I had never allowed myself to get my hopes up where you were concerned, for obvious reasons.” They share slightly embarrassed grin at that before Cas continues. “So while it’s disappointing, it’s hardly a shock.”

“No, that’s not… Fuck, I suck at this. I’m not saying I don’t want to see you. Just that we probably need to take it slow. Like, _really_ slow. If, you know. If you’re interested.”

“You want us to date,” Cas says, nodding at Dean as he pretty much sums up all Dean’s yammering in five words.

“I guess… Yeah, I guess I do. But I’m just letting you know upfront, that I gotta be mostly concerned with Ben right now. I mean, I won’t really have all that much free time and we’re talkin’ no more slumber parties for like… a while. So if you don’t want to do slow, that’s cool, I get it. I mean, we hardly know each other and we don’t even know if it’s gonna work out, in the end. I just want to feel out where we are now, before things get complicated.” He stops and ducks his head, lets out a small chuckle. “ _More_ complicated.”

“I think I would very much like to date you, Dean,” Cas says and leans over the table slightly into Dean’s space. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and feels warm all over when Cas places a hand over one of Dean’s and tells him, “You’re a good man.”

Dean’s not sure how true that is, but he smiles anyway, closes the distance between them and places a soft kiss on Cas’ lips.

***

Dean’s sitting on the couch with the newspaper in his lap when Sam comes home and tosses a tiny red jewellery box at Dean.

Dean raises his eyebrows as he slides his thumb along the seam in the velvet with a slow smile.

“Aw, Sam. You shouldn’t have,” he says and he’s got a feeling he knows what’s inside and his smile grows as he opens it up. And then he frowns.

“It’s… earrings?”

“Dude, please,” Sam scoffs and drops down next to Dean on the couch. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not ready to get married yet. It’s Sarah’s birthday in a couple weeks. You think she’ll like them?”

“I guess,” Dean shrugs. “She’ll like anything you give her. You don’t have to buy fancy shit to make her happy.”

“I know,” Sam smiles. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

“Mmm. You know, she kind of reminds me of Lisa.”

Sam kicks his foot out to the side to so it bumps against Dean’s ankle. “She’ll definitely take that as a compliment.”

Neither of them says anything for a little while as Dean hands the earrings back to Sam and Sam steals the business section from the pile of newsprint on Dean’s lap.

“I’m okay, you know,” Dean finally says. “Ben’s dealing and we’re good. And I don’t know if I ever really thanked you for moving back in with me and helping me out like you did, but… thanks. Seriously. You don’t even know how much I needed it. I’m not sure I would have gotten through everything without you.”

“Good job I could repay the favour then,” Sam tells him. “Because I don’t think you’ll ever know how much you did for me, my whole life.”

“Whatever,” Dean grunts and smacks the back of his hand against Sam’s knee. “Look, let’s stow the touchy-feely crap, because that’s not where I’m going with this.”

“Sure,” Sam smirks.

“Anyway. I appreciate it, but I’m gonna be okay if you want to move back out. Maybe into Sarah’s apartment. Now that? That’s a birthday present I’m pretty sure she’d be psyched over. Beats diamond earrings any day.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Sam jokes.

“You can stay here forever, as far as I’m concerned,” Dean tells him, completely serious. “Hell, Sarah can move in here, if you want. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay just for me. I really am good, Sammy. Ben smiles now. Every day.” 

“And Cas?” Sam asks. “You haven’t mentioned him in a while. Are you guys still…?”

“Working on it,” Dean confirms. “Honestly, I’m still a little freaked, probably because it’s going so well. We’re keeping it casual for now, but there’s definitely something there.”

Sam nods his head a few times and when he doesn’t say anything right away, Dean knows he’s off on some tangent in his own mind.

“You really think Sarah wants me to move in?” he asks shortly after.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at relationships,” Dean grumbles. “Yes, Sam, I think she wants you to move in. You need help packing?”

“Really?” Sam asks, turning to face Dean and Dean knows he’s asking about more than just putting his stuff in boxes.

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean tells him. “Really.”

***

Ben’s never been to a pro-baseball game before. Dean’s taken him a few times to see the local triple-A team play in Cicero when they were there togtogether and the kid grew up playing little league, but he’s never been to a _real _game, never experienced the excitement and the wonder, never taken in the beauty.__

Bush league is fine, don’t get him wrong, but there’s just something about being in a big league ballpark, watching the pros do their thing with a hot dog in one hand a beer in the other. It’s like magic.

Ben thinks so, too, Dean’s happy to learn, when he drives Ben into Missouri on a Saturday afternoon in late June to catch a Royals game at Kauffman Stadium.

During the seventh inning stretch Dean holds his hand out, half-full cup of beer tilted towards Ben and Ben makes an abortive gesture to take it.

“Dean?”

“Go ahead,” Dean says. “Just a few sips, though.”

Ben smiles and drinks down a large gulp and then he jumps up and cheers, spills his popcorn all over the ground when someone hits a homerun. Dean honestly doesn’t know who it is, or even what team, because Ben is laughing and happy and Dean can’t take his eyes off him for a solid minute.

“Hey,” Dean says after Ben sits back down and the roar of the crowd quiets a little. “You want to stop by Tony’s on our way home? Grab some pizza for supper?” Their mushroom and pepperoni is Ben’s all-time favourite food.

“Sure!” Ben answers, grinning brightly at Dean before he turns his attention back to the field, where another batter is taking the plate. “Thanks, Dean. Crap, today is so awesome.”

“Glad you think so, kid.”

“You want to call Sam? Ask him and Sarah to meet us?”

“I think they’d like that,” Dean says, nodding.

“And… you know,” Ben says casually, after the second strike is called. “If you wanted to ask Cas to come too? That’d be okay, I guess.”

Dean raises an eyebrow but his smile doesn’t fade.

“Really?”

Ben knows he’s been seeing Cas, occasionally, but mostly they just don’t talk about it. And Ben and Cas haven’t actually seen _each other_ since Ben paid him back for the damage on his car.

“Yeah,” Ben shrugs. “He’s not so bad. And then if you guys want the house to yourselves so you can make out or whatever, you can always drop me off at Beth’s place.”

“Yeah, I think I could swing that,” Dean answers, then flushes. “Uh, the bringing you to Beth’s place thing, not the making out with Cas thing. Not that I wouldn’t… I mean I like to… You know what? That’s none of your business.”

Ben laughs and roots around in his tub of popcorn for whatever remaining pieces he didn’t spill and something dawns on Dean.

“Uh, hey Ben? You remember that talk we had a couple years back? When your mom first caught you with those Playboys?”

Ben snorts and doesn’t look at Dean. Thank God.

“You mean the one where you stared at me for like, five minutes before you grunted ‘Wear a condom’ and left the room?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, relieved. “So… we don’t have to have it again, right?”

“ _Please_ no.”

“Right. Just… if you have any questions or anything…”

“I’ll ask Sam.”

“Good idea.”

Their team wins and on the way out of the stadium Dean sends quick texts to Sam and Cas before him and Ben climb in the car. It’s a nice afternoon. Summer’s just fallen and there’s hardly any breeze today so they ride with the windows down and Dean thinks it’s probably about time he started teaching Ben to drive. 

The sun is fading into the horizon as the Impala carries them towards it, towards home, and when _Back in Black_ comes on the radio Ben reaches over and cranks it up. Dean pushes on the gas just a little bit harder and the wind whips through their hair as they belt out the chorus together and Dean thinks, yeah.

Maybe ‘happily ever after’ doesn’t look like he thought it would, but it’s finally starting to come into focus.

END


End file.
